


right here (in the passenger seat)

by belizarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And I mean slow, Angst, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, brolarke to baelarke, married!bellamy, well a suicide attempt at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belizarke/pseuds/belizarke
Summary: She watches him drive away from a crack in her window, her fingers pulling back the curtain. He looks comfortable in his rover, cigarette hanging out the open window, and she thinks back to the two times she’s spent in his passenger seat. She wants to be there now, listening to his sad playlists and sharing a stogie, instead of in this empty house that lacks the warmth to be called a home. Even with a hazy mind, she recognizes the problem with the thought. The tall problem with legs for days.orclarke moved to new york city six years ago and fell out of touch with almost everyone in arkadia. but after her mother dies in a sudden accident, she has to go back to tie up loose ends. everything, and everyone, is different. a year, that's how long she gives herself to get everything settled before moving back to the city. but a lot can happen in one year.





	1. chapter 1

**From:** jjordan420@gmail.com  
**Sent:** Thursday May 25th, 2019  
**To:** clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com  
**Subject:** Condolences

Just heard about your mom, C. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m booking you a plane ticket, don’t worry about anything. See you soon. Love you.

* * *

**From:** greenwithenvy@gmail.com  
**Sent:** Thursday May 25th, 2019  
**To:** clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com  
**Subject:** (no subject)

Hey, Clarke. Jasper just told me what happened. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.

Monty

* * *

**From:** bigmcintyre94@icloud.com  
**Sent:** Thursday May 25th, 2019  
**To:** clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com  
**Subject:** I love you

I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll be at the airport to pick you up tomorrow morning at 9. Give me a call later this evening, I’d love to hear your voice. I’m so sorry, Clarke.

* * *

**From:** wellsjahaha@gmail.com  
**Sent:** Thursday May 25th, 2019  
**To:** clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com  
**Subject:** (no subject)

Clarke, I’ve been trying to call you all morning. My father called me to let me know what happened. I’m so sorry. Let me know if you need help with planning or going through her house, I’m coming home for the funeral. Call me.  
Wells Jaha

* * *

It was hard to believe the warmth this house once held. 

That at one point the long hallways had been bustling with the activity of toddlers learning to walk, young children play hide and seek in the various bedrooms, and teenagers stumbling to Clarke’s room after their first taste of alcohol. She notes the pencil marks on the wall, tracking her height as she grew, and promptly stopped growing around age 14. 

Her fingers trail along the flowered wallpaper, still crisp and bright despite being around since before she was born. That was her mothers doing, of course; she likely had a maid in every week, making sure the house never looked more than a day old. It was a blessing and a curse, to keep something lived in so pristine, and in one way a metaphor for the way Clarke had chosen to live her own life.

Despite the years that had passed, it still hurt Clarke to be in this house, to relive the memories from her adolescence that she’d left behind when she’d moved across the country. To look at the couch and see herself and Harper bent over a Tiger Beat, flicking through the pages and evenly distributing the posters between the two of them. 

Her fingertips walk up the banister of the stairs beside her and it’s almost like she can feel her high school self brush past her, her blue prom dress just a little too tight as she scurries across the foyer to clutch her boyfriends forearm. Her bedroom where she spent the majority of her teenage years, locking the door and yelling at her mother to mind her own business. 

She wished she could yell at her now, if only for the fact that it would mean she was there. 

Clarke sits on her bed, the duvet fluffy and dusted. Even gone, Abby had assured that nothing would be out of place. The maid hadn’t even known of the accident and when Clarke had shown up that morning, she’d had to tell her while she brought her bags to the second floor.

Looking around the room was like stepping into a time machine. She saw everything. Her and her friends getting ready for a Friday night football game, Finn sneaking in through her bedroom window, her first girlfriend hiding in the closet when her mom walked in unannounced. 

The good, the bad, the ugly, all her formative years took place here and to look around and imagine that she’d never see her mom barge in without knocking again… It was unfathomable.

But a pinging from her pocket begrudgingly pulls Clarke from her trip down memory lane, undoubtedly yet another sympathy email from one of her friends. She doesn’t understand their need to do that. Her mother is dead, she knows that, and to be reminded every fifteen minutes by another email… Well, it was cruel, right? Despite the fact that she and her mother had fallen out after Clarke refused to go to medical school and hadn’t spoken for a few years, Abby is still her mother. 

Except… Now she wasn’t. 

With a shake of her head and a small groan, Clarke pulls out her phone, nails tapping against the screen as she throws in her password and navigates to her email app.

* * *

**From:** bellamyblake90@gmail.com  
**Sent:** Thursday May 25th, 2019  
**To:** clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com  
**Subject:** Hey

I know you probably have a million of these emails to go through but I just wanted to reach out and offer my condolences. Losing your mother is never easy, no matter any age. Don’t feel pressured into replying to this, just letting you know that yet another person is thinking of you. Keeping you in my thoughts, Clarke.  
Bellamy Blake

* * *

Getting an email from Bellamy Blake was an honest surprise, the two hadn’t spoken since she’d moved to New York, aside from occasionally commenting on each other’s Instagram posts here and there. Or more like he commented on hers because he only ever posted once a year, if that, and it was usually something that didn’t warrant any sort of response from even his closest friends, let alone her.

But this email didn’t come across pitiful like the others. Maybe it was because Bellamy had lost his mother too and he may be the only one who truly understood what she was going through right now. Regardless, Clarke didn’t give it too much thought as she flipped her phone into Do Not Disturb and shoved it under her childhood pillow, hoping to forget all about it.

With a shaken sigh, she too lays down on the pillow, curling up on her side and placing her arm beneath her head. It’s quiet in the house, it always has been, but this feels different. Not just quiet, silent. Still. Clarke had a lot of work ahead of her; cleaning out the house, planning a funeral, reading the will - all of this done on her own. She had no family left to help her. 

Her blonde hair sticks to her neck as tears start to fall for the first time since hearing about her mother's death. It was real. And this was her life now.

* * *

“...and she was a great mother who will never be forgotten. So, if we could all step forward and one by one place a rose on her casket…” Clarke had tuned out for a majority of the speech, not understanding how a man who never even knew her mother could have the gall to stand up there and talk about what a remarkable woman she was, uninformed of her past and all the things she did that were less than superb. Sure, Clarke could’ve stepped up and gave the speech herself but she didn’t trust herself to not have a breakdown in front of all these people, especially given that just hours beforehand she’d gone through her mother’s will with her lawyer and found out she’d left Clarke her house. It looked like she’d be staying in Arkadia a while longer than she’d originally planned. That came with its own set of issues, namely her job, how she was going to sell the house, what she was going to tell--

“Clarke?”

She’s pulled away from her thoughts at someone saying her name. Her blue eyes flick up from where they’d been staring aimlessly at the grass to land on her old friend, Wells Jaha, holding out a white rose for her with a sad, but gentle, smile on his face. For a moment she just looks between his face and the rose but once she sees his smile start to falter she reaches up, grabs the flower, and turns toward her mother's casket. 

Though it’s only a few feet in front of her, the distance there seems to take forever, and even when she reaches the wood box, she just stands for a second, staring at it. She can feel everyone around her, silent, watching her, holding their breath. 

She hates it.

Before the attention can last a second longer, she opens her fingers, letting the rose flutter to the top of her mom's casket. Before it even hits the shiny wood, Clarke is turned away, eyes on the ground as she walks in the opposite direction. Maybe she gets a dead mom pass because no one follows her, no one even calls after her, as she speed walks away and slips behind a tall tree. Only there, alone, does she cry, fisting her black dress between her fingers on her left hand, her right coming up to slap over her mouth before she lets out a loud, dry sob.

She was well and truly alone, and though she’d realized it the other day, every time it came back to her it hurt just the same. 

She’d never replied to all the emails she’d gotten, and though her friends had shown up to the funeral, she hadn’t given them more than one word answers all afternoon. No one was pushy about it though, and Harper and Jasper had hovered at her side all afternoon without demanding anything from her. And yet, Clarke still felt alone. She supposes it comes with the territory of losing your only remaining family member.

Only when Clarke feels like no more tears can come does she straighten up, uncurling her fists from around her dress and smoothing herself out. As she tucks her blonde hair behind her ears, she finally looks up and freezes in her tracks. The Blakes. They’re standing back from the group, a good 5 meters away from everyone else. Octavia is watching the ceremony and Clarke can see she’s crying, even from all the way over at her spot by the tree. 

But he is looking straight at her, with an expression that’s hard to read. Bellamy. He doesn’t look away when Clarke meets his eyes, instead the man tilts his head just slightly to the left and raises an eyebrow. A question. _Are you okay?_ Clarke just stares at him and to his credit he doesn’t look away, holding her gaze from across the cemetery. What feels like minutes later, but is probably actually closer to seconds, she finally nods her head, he does the same, though his is so small it’s barely discernible, and looks away, back toward the ceremony.

She’s thinking of walking over, saying hello to them, but is physically pulled out of her thoughts as a hand curls around her bicep and she turns to find Jasper smiling at her. “Come on, they’re about to bury her…” He gently nudges her back toward the group and Clarke casts one last glance over her shoulder at the Blakes, both of whom are now watching her, before sinking into Jasper’s side to watch her mother be lowered into the ground.

* * *

“I don’t want to go out, Harper.”

“Come on, you’ve been locked up in here for two weeks!” The voice comes from Clarke’s closet, the doorway filled every other moment with flying clothes. Clarke’s sitting on her bed cross legged, watching her floor get filled with clothes she hasn’t worn since high school. “I know you’re going through a lot but it’ll help to go out, Clarke! To see all your friends and get something to drink.” Her voice becomes less muffled as she walks out of the closet, blowing a long strand of dirty blonde hair out of her face and holding up Clarke’s senior homecoming dress. It’s black and low cut and perfect for a 17 year old but a 25 year old? Not so much. She tosses it in Clarke’s face, who lets out a gasp of surprise as it falls into her lap. 

“Rude.” 

“Put it on.” Harper flops onto the bed next to her on her stomach, heeled feet lifted into the air. She looks at Clarke expectantly, raising both her brows in a rhythmic pattern until Clarke can’t help but laugh under her breath. She sighs overdramatically and stands up, lifting her top over her head in the process. 

“You know,” her voice is muffled as she pulls the black dress over her head, trying to work it down her body. “I haven’t worn this dress in like... 6 years.”

Harper giggles. “And you haven’t grown in 10.” Clarke replies by sending her shirt flying towards her best friend, knocking her square in the face. Payback.

* * *

Clarke is surprisingly happy to see that The Ark is still sticky; with everything else changing in this town - namely, her friends getting married, having kids, her mother's passing - it’s nice to see at least the bar is the same. She also notices the group in the back, those who were either a few years older than her or already had fake ID’s and therefore hanging out here while she was still in high school. The back booth is occupied in much the same way as it was all those years ago: John Murphy is in the middle, hands flying around as he tells some story where she’s sure he tries to frame himself as the victim despite causing most of his problems, Raven Reyes is next to him, rolling her eyes at whatever it is he’s saying, Jasper and Monty practically falling off the seat as they have their complete own conversation, and Octavia Blake, a new addition, sitting on Murphy’s other side, staring at her nails. Harper calls out to them and they all turn in succession, Monty and Jasper already rising to meet them.

It’s a little overwhelming, the hugs that ensue. Murphy’s is a little too tight while Octavia doesn’t hug quite tightly enough. Before she can even really tell what’s happening, Clarke is being pushed toward the bar which is being tended by a tall brunette she hasn’t thought about in years. 

Echo Snow. She was a senior when Clarke was a freshman and was also one of the worst people at Arkadia High to deal with. Echo came from an affluent family much like Clarke’s and they’d run into each other at parties a lot when they were younger. They both had a lot in common, namely rejecting the ideas and standards their parents put upon them, but Echo was never nice and Clarke was always four years younger than her which led to a lot of isolation at said events. She’d made Clarke’s formative years hell.

If it weren’t for the fact that Octavia ordered her drink, Clarke would have been afraid Echo might spit in it. But looking at the brunette now, she didn’t see the same malicious glint in her eyes that had haunted her 15 year old brain. In fact, if anything, all she saw was pity. And as she slid Clarke’s gin and tonic to her across the bar, she offered condolences, much like everyone else she’d run into the past two weeks. It was clear that, to Echo, the past was the past.

Clarke responds by shooting her drink in one gulp, sliding the glass over to Echo with a grateful nod. “Thanks but I don’t need pity, just another drink.” The brunette nods and gets to work on making her another.

“Where’s your brother?” Echo is acknowledging Octavia now, though it looks like neither is all too happy about the interaction. Octavia shrugs, taking a long drag off the e-cigarette in her hand - apparently you could still smoke in the bar too.

“Aren’t you his keeper?” She responds, and Clarke senses the venom behind her words. Her blond brows knit together and she looks between the two, clearly confused, until Echo pushes Clarke’s drink towards her and holds up her left hand simultaneously. Clarke practically chokes on her drink as her eyes land on the rock - and yeah, it’s a rock - that adorns Echo’s ring finger.

“Oh.” Clarke says shortly, unsure of how to respond to the news. She didn’t even know they knew each other. Echo presents her hand to her, like she’s expecting Clarke to grab it and admire the ring, so she does. “Uh… Wow. When’d that happen?” She can feel Octavia watching the two of them closely, but she doesn’t say a word, just nurses her beer silently. 

“Three years ago.” Echo says very matter of factly, throwing her hair over her shoulder with her free hand. She snatches her hand away from Clarke, bringing it up to her own face to admire the diamond. A sigh so happy it’s almost nauseating falls from her lips. “Feels like just yesterday, though. I look at this ring and I just fall in love all over--”

“We get it.” Octavia interrupts before Echo can go any further, placing her empty beer bottle on the counter. “Another.”

Echo scoffs but slides Octavia another beer after opening it for her, offering a sarcastic smile which the younger Blake gladly returns. She grabs Clarke’s hand before she can say anything else, dragging her toward a booth; Clarke almost has the instinct to wave over her shoulder but when she turns to look, Echo has already moved on to whispering with Raven and Murphy. Now that was a sight she was used to seeing.

“She’s the worst,” Octavia informs Clarke as she plops into one of the two sided booths near the entrance of the bar. As if Clarke didn’t already know that. “Their marriage… No scratch that, their entire relationship is the bane of my existence. As if it wasn't bad enough having nowhere to go for Christmas, now we have to go hang out with her. God, I’d rather have no family than be stuck with that monster.” The look of horror on her face tells her she immediately regrets what she said and she turns to Clarke, hazel eyes blazing. “I’m sorry, that was--”

“It’s fine.” Clarke says with a shake of her head, sucking down the last of her drink through the small straw. “I need another one of these.”

Almost as if someone can read her mind, another drink is placed in front of her, clinking against the empty glass. Clarke looks up, brushing falling hair out of her eyes as she does so, and is surprised to see Bellamy standing there, a comfortable looking cardigan sleeve practically dipping into his own cup. “Looked like you were about to bottom out, Echo thought you could use another.” He explains as he slips into the booth beside Octavia, a dark drink in his hand - rum and coke, if Clarke guesses correctly.

The three of them sit in silence for what feels like an agonizingly long amount of time, Clarke staring at her drink while Bellamy stares at her and Octavia watches him, Clarke unbeknownst to the scene happening with the siblings in front of her. 

“Thanks for coming t--”

“Nice dress.” 

Bellamy interrupts, and any other time she might call him out for being rude, but when she catches his eye, he’s giving her a very pointed look. He’s giving her an out. She’s not sure how to respond at first, opening her mouth and then closing it twice. God, she probably looked like a fish making that stupid expression. But before she can reply, he continues on. “Isn’t that what you wore to homecoming?”

“How did you--”

“It’s memorable.” That smile is still on his face, slightly crooked, and if Clarke doesn't know any better she would think he was flirting. But she did know better. For God’s sake, he was married, like with a whole wife with whom he shared a life. Infidelity isn't exactly a selling point for her. So, if anything, it just slightly annoys her to see him act this way.

Instead of carrying on with his tone, she crosses her arms over her chest, concealing her cleavage in a move that’s clearly meant to ward him off. He takes the hint, his smile faltering, and settles back in his seat, taking a long drink of his beverage.

“I’m gonna go get another beer,” Octavia interrupts the staring contest, shaking her head as she climbs over Bellamy’s lap to head towards the bar. Clarke swears she hears her mumble something under her breath and makes to follow her but a tan hand grabs her wrist, fingers so long they could probably wrap around twice. She stares at the contrasting colors for just a moment, her artist brain taking note, before turning to meet his brown eyed gaze.

“Hm?” She prompts, her left eyebrow raised almost as if in a challenge. A challenge for what, she wasn’t sure, but she felt surly from his attention. It was unwanted and inappropriate and rude. His wife was feet away.

His fingers still haven’t left her wrist and she makes another pointed glance, as if telling him to let go, but he ignores her. For a long moment they just stare at each other and now he’s the one who looks like a fish, opening his mouth just to close it again as he pulls his hand back to himself. He taps his fingers against the table once and then downs the rest of his drink, turning his head to look at the bar as he pulls the empty cup from his lips.

“Nothin’. You have a nice night, Clarke.” And with that he’s gone, and Clarke’s left staring at an empty booth, wondering if he’d ever even been there in the first place.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’re married.” It’s not a question, just a change of subject.
> 
> If she sees something change in his eyes, she imagines it.
> 
> “Mhm.” Bellamy hums through a sip of water, placing the glass down and looking down at his hand. How Clarke had missed his wedding band all this time, she’s not sure, but it's there. Gold, and solid, and glinting under the luminescence of the outside fire pits that surround them. “Three years last month. It feels like forever though.” Clarke doesn’t think it’s delivered in the same way Echo said it to her at the bar all those weeks ago but through her tipsy haze, anything sounds the way she wants it to.

Something no one tells you about your family dying is how long it takes for your inheritance to come through. Morbid, sure, but it’s true. Clarke has been residing in her mother's house for a couple weeks now and while she’s been enjoying being back in Arkadia, money was starting to become an issue. Luckily she could still work on her artwork from Arkadia but not being home in New York had its disadvantages. 

For one, she couldn’t go the galleries where her artwork were showing; networking was how she made a majority of her sales. Amazing what a low-cut dress can do in the scummiest city in the world with some of the wealthiest buyers. Secondly, since her mother’s death she’s lacked the muse to actually work on anything. Sure, she’d started a few pieces here and there, but nothing really seemed to stick and within hours she was tossing the canvas aside. Everything was either too dark or too light or didn’t match exactly what she was feeling on the inside. Clarke hadn’t experienced a lack of muse like this since her father died when she was eleven; that time, it took her three years before she started painting again. So where there was no new art and therefore no new sales, there was also no new money.

One would also think that a house being passed to you meant everything was taken care of. Nope. Clarke had learned that the hard way when she’d come home from having brunch with Harper to find a pile of bills on the kitchen table, a few with red past due stickers on their envelopes. After crunching numbers for a few hours, calling her lawyer for another, and finally checking her bank account, Clarke had come to one single conclusion. 

She needed a job. 

That's how she found herself walking downtown, shelling her resume out to anyone who would take it. But after three hours with no prospects, no meetings with managers, and no coffee, her kitten-heeled feet were killing her and she was starting to lose faith that she'd ever be able to pay the astronomical rent on her inherited home. 

One more try, she tells herself as she pulls open the door to a tutoring center, cold air immediately hitting her square in the face _ Polis Tutoring Center,_ the signs tell her. _Welcome._ Octavia had told her to drop by, apparently she did side work there when school was out and she needed a little extra cash to make rent.

The place is new and bustling. There’s kids everywhere, running around with paperwork, blocks, dioramas. In the back left she sees a computer area, almost every single monitor obscured by a small head working on some kind of - what she assumes to be - school work. Near the right corner there’s what seem to be classes happening, desks scattered without any sort of pattern, and Clarke recognizes Monty at one of the whiteboards, a complicated physics formula written out behind him. He gives her a small wave and she raises her hand in both surprise and return.

With her resume in hand, Clarke straightens out her blazer, smoothing her free hand down her skirt to assure there are no wrinkles, before turning to the front desk. There’s a nice looking woman working it with a name tag that reads Gaia and she smiles as Clarke approaches, already stepping out of her chair to address her. “How can I help you?

Clarke’s all business as she introduces herself, shaking the woman’s hand and placing her resume on her desk. “I was hoping to meet with your manager and give you this...” She holds her resume out to the woman, an easy, professional smile on her face. “You know, just put a face to the name and all that.”

Gaia’s nodding eagerly and her eyes focus on something behind Clarke. “Of course! Here he comes right now, in fact.” Clarke turns in her heels to face the man Gaia is referring to, her eyes widening just slightly when she sees who she’s referring to. “Mr. Blake, this is--”

“Clarke Griffin.” Bellamy finishes her sentence and makes the last few strides towards them, coming to a stop directly in front of Clarke. He’s in a black button down with black jeans, his glasses balanced almost precariously on the bridge of his nose, curls sticking in every which direction, and he’s holding out his hand for her to shake with an easy smile on his lips. “Nice to see you.” 

Clarke straightens her posture and extends her hand to shake his firmly. “You too,” she answers, the two of them sizing each other up. There’s nothing hostile behind the look despite how Clarke left things the other night, just gentle curiosity. She wonders if Octavia told him that she’d be coming in. She also wonders why Octavia forgot to mention that Bellamy managed the tutoring center.

The shake lasts long enough for Gaia to clear her throat and she step up beside them, handing Clarke’s resume over to Bellamy as soon as he drops his hand from Clarke’s. “Oh, you already know each other! Great! Well, Clarke here was hoping for a face to face with you!” 

Clarke and Bellamy simultaneously nod their thanks at Gaia and she takes that as a dismissal, leaving the two of them alone as she heads back to her desk. Clarke watches her sit down before turning her gaze back to Bellamy who’s watching her with a steady smile and warm eyes. He nods over his shoulder, already turning to walk toward the back. “Come on, let’s go talk.”

Clarke hitches her bag over her shoulder and follows after him, her heels clacking loudly on the word floor. Despite having been to at least 15 other places today, Clarke wished she hadn’t dressed so professionally. Everyone here was dressed so casually - even Bellamy in his button down managed to make it look easy, like it was what he wore everyday and not just when he was in the office. She never had to dress professionally for her job in the city, one of the perks of being an artist, so she feels as uncomfortable as she’s sure she looks. 

The pair come to a door in the back hallway labeled Blake and Bellamy holds it open for Clarke as she steps inside, gently closing the door behind him. “Have a seat,” he gestures at one of the bean bags in front of his desk with a grimace before thinking twice and reaching behind his desk, pulling out his rolling chair and placing it in front of Clarke. And they said chivalry was dead. 

“Sit here. Sorry, some of the kids thought I’d seem more… Approachable? That’s my word. I think they thought I just meant _cool_.” He clears his throat and leans back against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Clarke’s resume lies on the table between them. “So… How’d you hear about the place?”

“Your sister, Octavia, told me about it.” Clarke decides to keep the talk professional. While she’s never exactly been a kid person, she does need a job and has the added bonus of knowing the manager and at least two of the tutors there. “She didn’t mention you were the manager though. Sorry, I should have researched the place a bit more.”

Bellamy shakes his head, clearly unbothered with her lack of insight. “Owner, actually. And don’t worry about it, you’ve had a lot going on.” He pushes himself off the wall, instead choosing to lean over the desk and look at Clarke’s resume, his index finger moving down the side of the page as he reads. “So it looks like you don’t really have any experience with kids?” He asks, looking up at her through his glasses. 

A small curl falls on his forehead and Clarke stares at it for a second before tearing her eyes away to meet his gaze. “Ah… No. I’ve kinda been doing that artist thing since high school and it’s not really a… Er, kid scene.” She chews at her bottom lip, hopeful and, surprising to her, nervous. “But,” she continues, an idea springing to her. “I was thinking I could like maybe hold an art class or something? You can’t really tutor art but you can teach it! Or… The basics at least.”

She looks up to find Bellamy watching her -- again. He was always watching her. But this time he looks satisfied, surprised even, by her idea. He focuses on her for another minute before nodding his head and standing back up straight, his hands coming off the edge of the desk to slide into his front pockets. “I think that’s a great idea. Can you start tomorrow?”

Clarke’s taken aback. She’d thought of the idea less than five minutes ago. It wasn’t even a real idea, she’d just hoped he would like her spirit enough to hire her for something else. But clearly her idea was something he was interested in - enough to want to hire her immediately. “I, uh - yeah, of course!” She springs up from her chair, thrusting her left hand forward to shake Bellamy’s appreciatively. “I’ll have to get some supplies and stuff but I’d be happy to!”

His warm fingers curl around hers and he pumps her arm up and down twice before letting go this time, his hand immediately traveling back into his pocket afterward. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow at ten then? The hours are different during the school year but it’s summer. I’ll email you a list of supplies you’ll need.”

Clarke nods enthusiastically and throws her bag over her shoulder. “Absolutely. I’ll get right on that. Thank you so much.”

Just as she’s turning to leave, Bellamy speaks again, his voice quieter this time but just as steady as always. “You think you have a few hours to spare? I need to get lunch and I was thinking maybe we could catch up.”

His offer catches her off guard and Clarke turns around again, placing her left hand on the back of the computer chair as she looks at him. He doesn’t seem like he’s joking but still Clarke looks for a sign of laughter, anything. She doesn’t see any. “Um…” She muses aloud, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip again. That was going to sting later. “Yeah, sure. I guess I have a few hours I can waste.”

* * *

How they end up sitting outside at TonDC, she’s not sure. It’s a 50’s style diner she hasn’t been to in years - or at least was. Clarke was clearly gone long enough for it to change into a brewery type place, complete with IPA’s, board games and pool tables that doubled as a flat surface for beer pong tournaments. It was millennial heaven.

The trip over in Bellamy’s car had been filled with awkward silence, neither of the two sure what to say after not having a real conversation in so long. Clarke and Bellamy hadn’t exactly known each other that well before Clarke left for New York despite being neighbors - he was five years older than her and they ran in pretty different groups - but they had always gotten along when Clarke was hanging out with Octavia. And he’d been there for some pretty important moments in her life, including her father's funeral when she was eleven and discovering Finn with another girl at her eighteenth birthday party. In fact, he was the one who had convinced her to go to art school instead of medical school despite her mother's constant berating. 

But after Clarke left their communication dropped off for the most part, lending way for posts on each others walls for their birthday or a quick shout to the other in the back of a facetime. But after two or so years even that stopped and Clarke learned Bellamy had gotten married, just never to who. Either her invitation had gotten lost in the mail or she just wasn’t invited - either way she didn’t go.

But by the time they got to the restaurant, they were laughing at the lack of choices on the radio, and by the time they’d both had three drinks - Bellamy prefered stouts, where Clarke had gone for an IPA and two kombuchas - Clarke was red in the face, yelling at Bellamy for cheating on their game of Jenga. 

“It’s not even possible to cheat!” Bellamy guffaws, accidentally knocking the table with his knee and sending their tower tumbling to the ground. Clarke gasps like he’d just told her he won the lottery and throws her hands up in defeat while he bends at the waist, laughing at his mistake.

“You cheated and then threw the game because I _caught you!_” Clarke squeals, vaguely aware of the people around her glancing their way. They were being loud. She shushes him through a laugh, tipping her head back to finish her fermented drink. A drop slips down her chin and Clarke wipes it with her thumb, sucking it into her mouth.

Bellamy wipes his eyes dramatically as he sits up, a goofy grin in place on his freckled face. “I didn’t cheat,” he pronounces proudly, following suit of Clarke and finishing his beer. “You’re just not very good.” There’s a glint behind his eyes that tells Clarke he’s not serious and that he might’ve _actually_ cheated but she finds herself not that worried about it. It just feels good to laugh again. 

“Whatever,” she says as she settles back into the dark brown leather chair, her blazer forgotten on its arm. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her long white shirt, lifting her hair off her sweaty neck. “I thought we were going to lunch. I didn’t know your plan was to get me drunk so you could beat me at a board game and rub it in my face.”

Bellamy lets out another hearty laugh, throwing his head back and then leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to look at Clarke with a single brow raised. “I don’t have to get you drunk to win.” That wins him a block to the chest and he falls back against his chair with his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “Ow!”

“You deserve it,” Clarke murmurs, but she smiles at him to let him know she’s joking, an expression he returns. His smile is nice, she notes in passing, but mostly it just feels refreshing to sit with someone and not think about her mom or work or all the bad shit for two seconds. Even if she and Bellamy don’t know each other all too well, he does a good job of distracting her. He's almost always been like that, at least as long as she can remember. Anytime Clarke was fed up fighting with her mom, she'd often head next door to the Blake's to hang out with Octavia and subsequently Bellamy. Even when they ended up having to move away, Bellamy was always carting one or the other across Arkadia, always dropping someone off somewhere. It was nice to see he still cared, even if they'd lost touch over the years.

“Are you hungry?” He asks earnestly and extends a menu over the table to her. Clarke's head tilts up, eyes landing on the menu before traveling to meet Bellamy's again. He's handsome - she notes - and she's noticed before but with his cheeks flushed with alcohol and his hair falling in his face... Well, she sees the appeal.

“No, if anything I just need some water.”

“That can be arranged.” Bellamy turns in his seat and waves to their waiter who comes scurrying over. He hurries away just as fast and Bellamy turns back to look at Clarke, suddenly serious. “So how are you doing?” He’s earnest in his concern but starts picking up the Jenga blocks, saving Clarke from having to look him in the eyes as she answers. She wonders if it’s intentional.

She sighs, taking her blonde hair in her hands and beginning to cross strands over each other in a braid, just to give her hands something to do. “I hate being asked that.” She answers seriously, picking up a block after a minute and holding it out to him. When he reaches for it, she pulls back, forcing him to look up into her eyes. His gaze is stronger than she was expecting and when she meets his dark brown eyes, her breath catches - just for a second - but she clears her throat and looks back to the table when she begins to speak again. “But… I’m okay. Really. It’s confusing and stressful but we weren’t really close. We hadn’t talked since Christmas. She didn’t even call on my birthday. So… It sucks. But… You know.”

“I know.” He agrees quietly, reaching over the table to grab the block Clarke had pulled away from him. He grabs her hand and flips it over, her fist lying in his palm, and uses his other hand to pry her fingers open to grab the game piece. At the feel of the pads of his fingers dragging across her palm, Clarke tears her eyes away from the table to watch him again but he's already pulling his hands back to himself, throwing the block in the game box like nothing happened. It’s so gentle, so quick, Clarke almost feels she imagined it. But even after he’s gone, his warmth lingers.

At that moment the waiter arrives with their drinks and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief, grabbing hers off the tray before he can even offer it. She thinks she can hear Bellamy make some sort of comment and laugh but she ignores it, drinking her entire glass in one go and placing it back on the tray. “Can I get another?” She asks sweetly and the waiter nods before trekking back toward the kitchen. Her attention is back on Bellamy. “So you’re married.” It’s not a question, just a change of subject.

If she sees something change in his eyes, she imagines it.

“Mhm.” Bellamy hums through a sip of water, placing the glass down and looking down at his hand. How Clarke had missed his wedding band all this time, she’s not sure, but it's there. Gold, and solid, and glinting under the luminescence of the outside fire pits that surround them. “Three years last month. It feels like forever though.” Clarke doesn’t think it’s delivered in the same way Echo said it to her at the bar all those weeks ago but through her tipsy haze, anything sounds the way she wants it to.

“How’d you meet?” Clarke prods, thanking their waiter as he brings her water and their check. She reaches for her wallet but Bellamy’s already slapped a card on the bill and a look at his face tells Clarke not to challenge him.

“Uh… When I was interested in starting my tutoring center I needed some donors… Backers. I had a meeting with her father and… And, well, your mother, actually. But only he offered to back the center.” Clarke knits her brows together. She can’t imagine her mother turning down something like that; despite all her flaws, Abby loved kids. Or maybe that was all a facade too. “Well, we had lunch to celebrate--”

“Lunch.” Clarke references to their six empty glasses. 

Bellamy laughs and Clarke likes the way his eyes crinkle up around the edges. “Lunch,” he agrees before continuing on. “And he brought Echo and… The rest is history.” He offers Clarke a small smile and she nods, returns it, and scoops an ice cube out of her water with her fingers. 

“Good for you,” she says through a mouthful of ice. She means it. She’s glad he’s happy. “She seems… Different. Must’ve been your doing.”

That elicits a grin out of Bellamy. “Well, I don’t like to take all the cred--”

He’s interrupted by a loud ringing coming from his pocket and he holds up a finger to Clarke, asking for a minute, before fishing it out of his pocket. For a minute Clarke sees the caller ID, _speak of the devil,_ but then he’s angled away from her, holding the phone to his ear as he speaks. Clarke chews another ice cube and looks around, trying not to eavesdrop but unable to not hear the person two feet in front of her.

“Hi, Echo. ... Yeah, no, I know. … No, I’m just -- _Can you let me talk please?_ … No. _No,_ I’m not doing anything important, I’ll be there soon.”

Clarke looks up from her glass of water and at him with the last sentence and though she doesn’t want it to, it hurts. She places her glass carefully on the table in front of her and stands up, gathering her blazer and her bag. Bellamy looks up, motioning for her to stay; _please sit down,_ he mouths, but she shakes her head. “See you tomorrow,” she whispers as she turns, raising a hand to say goodbye. He looks like he’s going to say something but his attention is regained by a shrill voice on the other line and he sighs, turning back to the situation at hand without even waving back. Clarke nods her head once and walks out of the brewery, tipsy and back to feeling bad.

* * *

By the time Clarke climbs out of her Uber almost a half hour later, she’s feeling significantly less tipsy and yet… Worse. It’s about dusk, 7 o’clock in June, the sun setting in the trees behind Clarke’s house, and the air is warm with the promise of summertime. Yet Clarke feels chilled to the bone as she steps inside the large, empty house. Every time coming home was like a punch to the gut; this house was like a ghost. 

_Might as well warm back up_, is the immediate thought that pushes Clarke towards the kitchen and has her grabbing a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. After a minute of difficulty, she manages to get the cork out and decides to forget a glass, opting for drinking directly out of the bottle. She steps out of her heels as she makes her way towards the marble stairs.

Lights flick on around her as she scales the hallway, turning at last into the room at the back left corner. She hasn’t been in here since she’s gotten back aside from the first night, and even then she hadn’t put it to use. But standing in the doorway, gazing at all the blank canvases and stained palettes, Clarke felt suddenly inspired. 

Not bothering to go change out of her work clothes, Clarke takes another long swig of the wine and steps toward one of the smaller canvases in the room. She sets the wine on the table and hoists the canvas to the easel then steps back, assessing the space. It only takes a second for it to come to her and suddenly she’s got paint on a palette and a brush in her hand. 

Art’s like that sometimes. Instantaneous.

By the time she finishes the moon has been hovering above her for hours and she’s drank the last of the wine and ruined an entire work outfit. She steps back to look at her work, arms raised above her head in a much needed stretch. It’s not her best work, she knows that, but the way it came rushing out of her felt good. It was needed. 

Even though Clarke is more of an abstract painter, there’s a whisper of something there. Deep chocolate brown with a sprinkle of gold. She’s sure it would shine in the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we feeling after the finale last night? we still have hope?
> 
> even if you don't, at least we have fanfic. hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated. <3


	3. chapter 3

From: greenwithenvy@gmail.com  
Sent: Thursday June 14, 2019  
To: clarkegriffinpaints@icloud.com, bellamyblake89@gmail.com, babyblake94@icloud.com, bigmcintyre94@icloud.com, reyeswrecks24@icloud.com, mightymurphy@icloud.com, snowyblake@icloud.com, finlin93@icloud.com  
Subject: Jasper’s Birthday Party

This is just the easiest way to contact you all at once. We’re all set for Jasper’s party tomorrow night at Eden’s Pass. You all know what you’re in charge of bringing. Contact Bellamy for the address so Jas doesn’t get suspicious. See you at eight.

Monty Green

* * *

Clarke laughs to herself as she reads Monty’s email for a second time; she was glad to see he’d never stopped signing his name at the end - a habit he’d picked up in high school - even when just emailing some friends. But she was also glad he had reminded her about the party because she’d been so caught up in her first week of work and sudden resurgence of muse, she’d entirely forgotten about it.

She had also completely forgotten that she was on balloon duty until Harper showed up to pick her up with a horrified look on her face. It’s why the two girls were sitting in traffic, already running fifteen minutes late, hoping that Jasper and Monty hadn’t already arrived and they weren’t ruining the party. Clarke had already apologized fifteen times but every time Harper just waved her off, blowing dirty blonde hair out of her face and honking at the cars in front of her. Clarke was amused to see her usually put together friend so exasperated by something as common as traffic.

After another ten minutes of Harper throwing people the middle finger and shouting at them to get the hell out of her way, they pull up to the bowling alley and Clarke swears she hears the squeak of tires as they pull into a last minute parking spot. “We’re here!” Harper shouts as she runs inside ahead of Clarke, who’s struggling to hold so many balloons, right as Murphy goes to yell “_Surprise!_” There’s a light chuckle of laughter from their friend group and all at once everyone is up, grabbing the gifts and alcohol from Harper and the balloons from Clarke. Murphy starts tying balloons to chairs while Octavia and Bellamy start mixing up some drinks, hiding the bottles and red solo cups under their seats and out of the view of the actual bartender just feet away. She tilts her head as she watches them, amused by their antics. 

“Thank god Jasper’s always late, huh?” Comes a familiar voice to her left and Clarke turns to be hit with yet another wave of nostalgia.

“Finn Collins,” she says, a breath of laughter evident under her breath. Clarke hadn’t seen or talked to Finn since her eighteenth birthday party when she’d found him playing seven minutes in heaven with a girl named Emori. Clarke had dumped his ass right then and there and despite his best efforts - and oh, did he try - over the following few weeks, they’d never made up. She’d wondered all those years ago what made him stop trying to contact her because as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself at the time, his attention excited her, but she never wanted him to have the satisfaction of knowing that and therefore she’d never asked. But still… It was nice to see a familiar face. 

“The one and only,” he muses, an easy grin on his face as he holds one arm out, offering, but not forcing, a hug. Clarke thinks it over for a moment before stepping into it, though she only offers one arm as well. “It’s good to see you,” he says as he steps back, both hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I was sorry to hear about your mom.”

Clarke sighs but nods her head nonetheless, trying to muster up a grateful tone. “I appreciate that but we don’t need to talk about it. How are you?”

Finn shrugs his shoulders, clearly not bothered by the change in subject - not that she thought he would be. “I’m doing good, you know. Same old, same old. I’m working at this mechanic shop downtown--”

He’s interrupted by the clearing of a throat from behind Clarke and she turns on her heel to see Bellamy standing there, a drink outstretched towards her, and his gaze on Finn. “Sorry to interrupt,” his eyes flicker away from Finn and instead land on her face, where they seem to soften just the littlest bit. Clarke doesn’t think much of it beyond typical alpha male bullshit. “But I think I heard Murphy asking for you.”

He’s staring at Clarke so intently that she’s sure he must be talking to her and makes a move to walk toward Murphy, but she’s stopped by Bellamy’s hand on her elbow. He nods towards Finn, a smile falling easily onto his lips. “Him.”

Clarke hears an irritated scoff from beside her and if Bellamy wasn’t holding her arm, she might’ve reached out to Finn. But he is, so she doesn’t. “You know, you should really look at people when you’re talking to them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” That just makes Bellamy’s smile grow, though Clarke swears it’s closer to a smirk, as he mumbles, and she can tell from his hooded eyes and easygoing demeanor that he’s already had a few. Clarke feels, rather than sees, Finn storm off toward Murphy, and she shouts in his general direction that they’ll _catch up later_, but Bellamy has her full attention as he picks a piece of lint off the collar of her shirt. He holds it up, it almost looks like he’s going to say something, but must think better of it because he finally tears his gaze from her, nodding towards the arcade room. “How long has it been since you played Space Invader?”

Clarke blinks. “Too long,” is her only response before turning and walking towards the flashing lights and sound, her drink in her left hand and Bellamy’s sleeve in the other. She feels him stumble for just a second but then he’s hot on her heels, one of his strides closer to two of hers. She drops his arm as they get to the game, taking her place on the left with him directly to her right.

Her drink sloshes out of her cup when Bellamy jostles her, bumping his hip against her own. _Big mistake._ Clarke’s eyes narrow to slits as she tosses her head back, gulping down her gin and tonic in one quick shot. Before Bellamy can even finish whistling through his teeth, she’s reaching across his body to grab his cup; she shoots that one too, ignoring his cry of protest. “You’re on.”

Clarke almost wants to laugh at the look on Bellamy’s face, and might even, in a setting that didn’t include him battling her to a fight to the death. (Okay, maybe not to the death, but if you aren’t going to play like you might die, Clarke doesn’t want to play with you anyway.) They had played a lot of this game when they were younger; Clarke and Octavia frequented another bowling alley when they were sixteen and Bellamy would often join them at the end of the night for a game or two at the end of the night when he arrived to drive them home. They’d always had a bit of a competition, constantly fighting to get their initials in the top leaderboard spot. 

Clarke had succeeded only once and the next day when she came in, a pulsing _BB_ was in the first place slot, while her _CG_ had slipped to second. That might’ve been the last time she played. She’d always said it was just because she’d gotten older but really, she didn’t mind that Bellamy had beat her. It always felt kind of nice that that game was, more or less, theirs.

By the time they finish the first game, if Bellamy wasn’t regretting challenging Clarke, he is now. His curls are hanging in his eyes and he keeps pushing them back angrily, but every time he takes his hand off the joystick to do so, he falls a little further down the leaderboard. He swears so loudly when he loses that everyone in the bowling alley turn to look at the two of them, and Clarke turns to hide her face against his arm as she giggles. 

At some point, someone - probably Harper - had brought them both a new drink. “Cheers,” Clarke clicks her red cup against Bellamy’s and they both tip their heads back simultaneously, grimacing at the burn of the liquor, but relishing in the tingling in their fingers. Clarke wipes her blonde hair off her sweaty forehead; was it hot in here or was she just drunker than she thought? “Hey,” she tugs on Bellamy’s sleeve to get his attention again. “Let’s play one together. You’ll actually _win_ this time.”

He scoffs but nonetheless slides four tokens into the machine (and who said chivalry was dead?), booting it up to multiplayer.

They do win that round, doing so well playing together that they end up on the machines leader-board. Clarke bounces on her toes next to Bellamy as he inputs their initials, _BBCG_, into the second place spot. “Good game, partner.” He grinsat her as he throws his arm around her shoulder in a light hug.

She relishes in the way his eyes crinkle as he laughs when she tells him, “Maybe in another life, we really were space invaders.”

For a second the two just smile at each other but suddenly there’s mass whispering around them and Clarke hears Murphy shout “they’re here” as he tugs Octavia to the ground, much to her chagrin. Bellamy follows suit, grabbing Clarke’s wrist to pull her behind a bowling ball case with him. She stumbles into the position, placing her hand on Bellamy’s knee to catch her balance as they crouch; for a moment, his dark eyes catch hers and she can’t exactly decipher the look in the dim lighting of the venue, but Jasper and Monty walk in a second later and then the whole group jumps up, yelling “happy birthday!”

Clarke swears she sees Jasper cry though he denies it by the time he gets around to hug her. She places both her hands on the side of his face and he grins down at her and at that moment, nothing feels better than being there with her friends. 

As Jasper makes his rounds, she hears Bellamy mention something about Echo being sorry she couldn’t make it and Clarke realizes suddenly that she entirely forgot about her for a good hour, she hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t there. But, judging by the sour look on Octavia’s face as she stands next to her brother, she wasn’t the only one. 

The first game of bowling goes well. Jasper ends up winning, though if it’s through sheer skill or the fact that it’s his birthday, no one will say. They’re all fairly tipsy by the end of it, some even teetering on drunk - namely Bellamy and Clarke - so when it comes time to pick teams, the contention runs deep.

“But I want Clarke on my team!”

There’s a childish shouting match that takes place for a minute but Octavia comes out victorious, raising Clarke’s left hand in her own like they’ve just won the WWE tag team round. “Sorry, Harper but I called dibs!”

Bellamy gives an animated nod from Octavia’s other side. “You have to respect the terms of dibs.”

Clarke shrugs helplessly from Octavia’s side as Harper pouts at her and eventually her best friend twirls around, grabbing Monty and Murphy by the hand. “Fine, but we get Jasper! You can have Finn.” It’s clear from the tone of her voice that Harper didn’t want him in the first place, and even clearer from the faces the Blake’s make that they don’t want him either, and though Clarke is curious as to why Finn was even invited if no one seems to like him much, all her drunk mind registers this as is the attempt to stifle a laugh. 

She tugs out of Octavia’s grip and moves toward Finn, stumbling on a handbag on the way. Her hand comes up to grab his forearm and he catches her by the waist, reflexes surprisingly agile for someone who’s had as much to drink as he has. Clarke laughs as she rights herself but he doesn’t remove his hand. And Clarke doesn’t really mind. 

“Alright!” Octavia says from behind her and when Clarke catches her eye, the brunette is watching her as she speaks. “Each person gets one throw per round. We’ll keep individual scores-” she motions towards Monty and everyone erupts in cheers or whoops while he bows dramatically at the waist. “And we’ll keep team scores up on the screen. Losing team pays for the drinks at the bar afterwards, losing player has to drink...” She pauses for dramatic effect and then pulls an empty cup from behind her back, slamming it on the table. “The losers cup. You all know how the rules go--”

“Not Clarke!”

“Right. Anyone who gets a strike gets to pour as much of their drink as they want into the cup. It gets…” Octavia trails off but Clarke hears a gross to her left and turns her head just slightly to catch the culprits eye. Bellamy. They both grin at each other for a moment but then Octavia’s pushing him towards the lane, shaking her head exasperatedly. “And to think _I’m_ the little sister.”

Everyone agrees to the terms with a shout and they spend the next twenty minutes in a heated game, both teams trash talking each other and trying to force one another to get gutter balls. At one point Clarke gets a strike and she squeals as Finn hugs her and spins her around, then pours a good half of her gin and tonic - though honestly it’s more like a gin and gin at this point - into the losers cup, which causes Murphy to swear at her. At another, Bellamy makes a big show of teaching Harper how to throw a bowling ball, both of their faces red with laughter when she still ends up only getting two pins. Clarke’s team is just about to take the win when the door opens behind them, a sharp flash of outside fluorescent lighting cutting the darkness of the bowling alley. When Octavia fumbles and the ball goes into the gutter, she spins around so fast to find the offender that her hair whips around her face.

Clarke follows her gaze to find Echo standing in front of the closing door, both hands held up in playful surrender, though Octavia’s glare is anything but. “I should’ve known,” Octavia growls under her breath, not loud enough for anyone but Clarke and Finn to hear. The other team cheers beside her, completely unaware of Octavia’s sudden shift in attitude. Or maybe they’re just used to it. Clarke turns her attention back to her friends, congratulating them all with a hug, though she still catches Bellamy and Echo kissing hello from the corner of her eye. 

Finn’s at her side again, this time his lips brushing her hair as he speaks directly into her ear. “You want another drink?” She cranes her neck to the left to look at him and nods, offering a smile, which he returns wholeheartedly. When Clarke looks at her friends again, Harper is giving her an odd look and Clarke furrows her brows in question. Harper just darts her eyes over Clarke’s shoulder and then mouths _i’ll tell you later_ before being pulled back into the group, the losers cup shoved into her hand. Everyone laughs as she attempts to chug it, half the cup spilling down her neck and chest.

Clarke excuses herself from the group to take a much needed moment to breathe. The sigh that falls from her lips is one of pure happiness, and she makes her way towards the bathroom, her eyes on her ugly bowling shoes and the multi patterned carpet that looks like it’s from the 80’s. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the nostalgia or the warmth of her friends but this is one of the few times Clarke has felt truly happy since arriving in Arkadia. 

She takes a minute for herself in the bathroom, mostly staring in the mirror at her hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, pulling at her top to show just a little more cleavage. She pulls her hair off her sweaty neck and gathers it into a sloppy bun on top of her head, admiring the way her earrings glint under the light without the cover of her hair. Again, it was probably just the alcohol but Clarke was feeling herself.

She’s surprised when she steps out of the bathroom and Finn is leaning against the wall in front of her, looking at his phone. She smiles as she steps forward, clearing her throat quietly to let him know she’s there. At the sound, his eyes flicker up and he immediately locks his phone, shoving it into his pocket before grinning back at her. “Hey…”

“Hi.” Clarke titters, stepping forward again so she’s in his personal space. He doesn’t seem to mind. “You waiting for me?”

There’s a glint in his eyes Clarke can’t quite read but he nods, his brown eyes flickering down to her newly exposed cleavage before meeting her gaze again. “Yeah.” He mumbles, his hand reaching out to grab the side of her top. He pulls her in towards him, their toes touching now, his palm suddenly laying flat against the small of her back. “You said you wanted to catch up.”

Clarke’s cheeks burn at the connotation but she smiles back nonetheless, her hand lifting to drift across the front of his chest. She’s braver than she’d normally be, spurred on by the alcohol coursing through her veins. “And I meant catch up.” She fusses with the collar of his shirt coyly. “How’s your life?”

“Boring.” His answer is short and when Clarke looks up at him, he’s staring down at her with a look she hasn’t seen from him in six years. There’s still a few inches between them but Clarke is seriously contemplating closing them more and more with every passing second. She doesn’t react to the sound of a closing door behind her, even when Finn’s eyes flick upward and widen for a split second. When he looks back down at her it’s much in the same way as before but somehow… Different. “Come on, let’s go see what everyone else is doing.” 

Clarke follows after him like a lost puppy, unsure where things went wrong in the last thirty seconds. Maybe it’s because he was comfortable or familiar or she was just drunk enough but she was actually contemplating _catching up_ with him. In fact, if they’d stood there even another ten seconds it would’ve been more than a contemplation. 

But his mood seems to have shifted and as she steps up to his side, he doesn’t say a word to her. Clarke sighs and looks around the group; everyone seems to be having fun and has packed up their little area into bags. Harper and Octavia are huddled on one chair, facetiming someone, and though Clarke isn’t entirely sure who, she’s willing to bet it’s Octavia’s fiance; Harper is laughing maniacally - she’d had to drink the losers cup. Monty’s standing in front of Jasper who’s trying to inconspicuously roll a joint on their table. Murphy’s over at the vending machine flirting with a girl with tattoos up and down her arms. But when Clarke looks at Bellamy, she freezes - because there he is again, staring at her.

She looks away from him quickly, pulling her hair from its bun and letting it create a curtain around her face. This look feels more judgmental than the others - though not harsh, more so curious - and it continues until Echo comes saddling up to his side, placing herself in his lap despite all the empty chairs around. Bellamy wraps an arm around her waist and turns his attention to her but Clarke can still feel his eyes, as though they burned a permanent mark into her skin. 

“Success!” Comes a sudden shout from the left. Jasper has successfully managed to roll his joint and is grinning ear to ear. Clarke’s happy; both for the subject change and to see him having so much fun on his birthday. “I present the _perfect_ birthday joint, an exact 2 grams - 1 indica, 1 sativa - with wax on the inside, a gift from my spectacular best friend.” Monty grins at his side while Harper claps excitedly from her shared seat with Octavia. “You all ready to get out of here?”

They all follow behind Jasper, bags in hand, Monty grabbing Murphy by the shoulder and pulling him into the group as they pass. Clarke laughs as Murphy shouts his phone number over his shoulder; Bellamy ribs him about getting his phone number wrong - he didn’t - which causes the two of them to start play fighting, attempting to slap each other’s cheeks. Almost the minute the warm outside air hits their faces, Jasper lights up the joint and their group stands in a circle, passing it amongst themselves. 

Clarke takes the joint when Finn offers it from her left side, holding it between two fingers as she pulls a long drag off it. She faintly hears Murphy whistle under his breath from the other side of the circle and she smirks at him as she pulls it from her lips, blowing the smoke in his direction. “Don’t forget _I_ lived in the city, Murphy.” He holds his hands up in submission as the group laughs.

Clarke goes to hand it to her right, to Echo who, if she’s honest, Clarke hadn’t even noticed had been standing next to her; Echo had yet to acknowledge Clarke all night and despite how she may have acted that first night they saw each other again, that attitude was clearly gone. She was completely wrapped up in Bellamy. 

Like now, for instance, she couldn’t even grab the joint from Clarke’s fingers herself. She let’s Bellamy physically reach across her, grab the joint, and hold it up to her lips, just because she doesn’t want to unwrap herself from where she’s glued to his side. Clarke catches Octavia’s eye across the circle and the brunette makes a gagging motion, sticking her finger down her throat. Clarke giggles but covers it up with a cough.

After the joint has been smoked and everyone’s feeling loose, Echo finally pipes up, suggesting they all go to the bar. The winning team from earlier cheers and start down the street but Clarke stays behind the last person, who just so happens to be Finn, and catches his hand before he can go too far, pulling him to a stop. “Hey,” she whispers, grasping his large hand in both of hers.

She looks past him, watching the group walk away, before turning her attention back to the man at hand. She steps forward, shifting onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his lips. It’s gentle but a little sloppy, tastes like gin and beer, and over almost as quickly as it started. Finn just looks down at her, but she can almost see that same fire from earlier sparking back up. “You wanna get out of here?”

* * *

The second their Uber gives them an arrival time, Finn has Clarke pushed up against the side of someone’s truck and is licking a fire into her mouth and belly. She hasn’t gotten laid in months but the combination of that, the alcohol, and the weed has her clutching at Finn like she hasn’t been touched in years and he was completely eating it up. In fact, he was eating her up. 

By the time their Uber arrived, Clarke is sure her skin is littered with purple bruises from the way he’s mouthing at her neck and collarbone. “We were supposed to pay for drinks,” she breathes as he ushers her into the backseat, continuing his assault on her neck the minute the door’s closed. In the back of her mind, she feels bad for their driver.

“Then I’ll venmo them.” He mutters against her skin, his lips making their way back up to meet Clarke’s own. By the time they’re halfway home, his hand is down her pants and when they pull up to his apartment, she’s gasping into his mouth and making a mental note to give their driver a big tip.

It's a lot how she remembers it and yet totally different. This Finn is stronger, his hands wrap around her hips and throw her down like she weighs no more than a pillow. The beard is different and Clarke finds she loves the burn of it on her thighs; she loves the way her fingers curl into his hair as her back arches off the bed - that's the same. It's nice and familiar and he fucks her until it doesn't hurt. And then he fucks her again until it does. It's exactly what she needs and as they lay in his bed afterward, her chin on his chest, she can't help but feel content.

"I'm glad you came tonight," she whispers, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. Her fingers flutter down Finn's chest, tracing shapes aimlessly.

"You too," he chuckles and Clarke laughs along, shoulders shaking, feeling silly for the accidental double entendre. Clarke plants a kiss on his chest and then hauls herself up on the bed, holding the sheet over her bare chest as she reaches for her phone. Finn tugs playfully at the sheet beside her and she throws an elbow into his side to stop him, though she’s giggling as her screen lights up.

To 14 missed texts.

**Harper:** hey where'd you go?  
**Harper:** are you okay?  
**Harper: **im just worried clarke  
**Bellamy: **everything good? you disappeared.  
**Harper: **call me!  
**Jasper: **arwe yuo okayyy??  
**Jasper: **haerpers cryin g :\  
**Harper: **murphy said he saw you leave with finn?  
**Jasper: **it'ss muy birrhday :(  
**Bellamy: **never mind. glad you got home safe. have a good night.  
**Harper: **clarke he has a girkfriend  
**Harper: **raven  
**Harper: **raven is his girlfriend  
**Harper: **clarke CALL ME

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't we just love brolarke? they'll be baelarke one day.   
i know the end is kinda flarke heavy but it's important for the plot, you'll see.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed <3 kudos and comments appreciated as always.


	4. chapter 4

“You’re _sure_ no one told her?” 

Clarke’s asked that question a million times tonight and will probably ask it a million more by the time the clock strikes midnight. But she just can’t shake it and every time she starts to have a little fun, the guilt creeps back up and pinches her. It’s starting to ache.

Jasper sighs from his seat next to her and reaches out to pat her knee through the dress she donned. “Clarke, if your house is still intact and you’re still alive, no one told her.” Clarke can feel him getting exasperated with her but to his credit, he doesn’t ever ask her to stop, only reassures her every time the anxiety bubbles over. He’s good like that.

Clarke sighs, but the sound is shaky and short; it’s hard to breathe with the weight of her world sitting on her chest, staring her straight in the eyes. And it was even harder to believe she had become the other woman, even without meaning to, without even _knowing_ Finn had a girlfriend. And to someone she knew as well. Though she and Raven weren’t friends, they hardly even got along in fact, Clarke still didn’t have any desire to _hurt_ her. Not that she’d believe that now.

Nor did she blame her.

* * *

_”Clarke, stop. Hey, stop! Just listen!”_

_She feels a hand touch the small of her back and whips around, eyes blazing, clothes clutched in front of her naked body. “Do _not_ touch me!” The blonde works at pulling her jeans back on, though she’s so frustrated that she trips not once, but twice, her body catching on the dresser the first time and the bed the second. That was gonna bruise. When she’s finally got them on, and her bra strapped into place, she makes towards the door, not even bothering to throw on her shirt._

_Finn is hot on her tail, so close Clarke can almost feel his breath on her bare shoulder. He reaches out to touch her again, this time his hand cupping her elbow, and Clarke whirls around, lifting her left hand to slap him square across the face. “I said don’t fucking touch me,” she breathes, so angrily her body physically shakes. She always forgets how literal the term _seeing red_ is, but right now she can’t see anything but. “You’re disgusting.”_

* * *

“Hey,” Clarke looks away from her hands in her lap and focuses her attention towards her friend, who's holding out a weed pen with a childish smile. She can’t help but laugh as she wraps her fingers around it and lifts it toward her mouth, pulling smoke from it until she sputters out coughing. Jasper rubs her back through it and when she lifts her head, the world is a little less harsh around the edges, and she feels like she can breathe again. She gives him a sheepish smile.

“Don’t stress so much.” He continues, holding up his left hand before Clarke can interrupt (not that she doesn’t still try). “I know - easier said than done. But this…” He gestures outside as their car pulls up to a big mansion; through the tinted backseat windows she can see twinkling lights adorning nearly every surface. “This is stressful enough without having to worry about an accident.” He finally drops his hand and grabs Clarke’s, giving it one tight squeeze. “Okay?”

Clarke finally nods. She doesn’t know how he does it, but Jasper always seems to make things better. She supposes it’s why she’s kept him around so long, and why they’d worked so well as roommates for three years in New York. He was easygoing, she was - he would say - uptight; she could yell at him to take the trash out, or wash the dishes, or for God's sake, get a job, and he would tell her to smoke a blunt, and then roll it for her. But they could still lay feet to head on the couch on a Tuesday night and talk out their frustrations with work and family and love. It was her easiest friendship and she missed him these last three years after he moved back, but falling into their old patterns felt like second nature. 

They both look at each other another minute and simultaneously nod, then he’s opening the door and stepping out, offering Clarke his arm as she climbs out beside him. There’s people everywhere, all of them dressed in ways that show their only real goal here tonight is to look better than one another; all the charity events were like that, it was part of the reason Clarke hated attending them so much in her youth. Slipping into the long black dress she was in now had made her feel like an old widow - the kind that killed her husband but pretended to be grieving him. If her mother's tailor had added a black veil, Clarke might’ve lost her mind. Instead, she’d curled her hair softly around her shoulders and smudged her eyes with kohl liner. It felt like a cheap Lydia Deetz cosplay. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t have even come to this event tonight but her mother's life was being honored and her attendance was requested, which - in rich people’s terms - meant mandatory.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to hate it the entire time. Inviting Jasper as her date served multiple purposes, the main being that one, he was her closest friend and therefore a solid ally in the presence of the most judgmental eyes in the Arkadia and two, his presence was always a guarantee of fun, even if that just meant whispering complaints to one another all night. Or smoking a weed pen in the backseat of their black car, which made everything a little brighter and smoother and a whole lot easier to take in.

Clarke greets people as she and Jasper pass through the main foyer, giving more cheek kisses and receiving more pats on the bottom than she had in years. By the time they make it to the main room, she’s practically sunk into Jasper’s side, and is looking around warily, arms crossed over her chest. “I should’ve told you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” she mumbles under her breath and hears a low guffaw in return. “I forgot how pervy all these old dudes are.”

“I don’t know how believable it would be. I’m kinda out of your league.” He jokes back, busting out in loud laughter as Clarke throws an elbow into his ribs. A few individuals in the general area turn to look at them incredulously, which just makes Clarke start to giggle at Jasper’s side. The people in front of them turn back to their conversation, though the disapproving shake of the head is evident. But _fuck it_, it’s Clarke’s moms party (er, funeral?), she’ll laugh if she wants to.

“Come on,” Clarke says as she reaches for Jasper’s arm, pulling him towards one of the waiters carrying around horderves. “Let’s go stuff my purse with bacon wrapped figs.”

* * *

It takes approximately an hour and a half for Clarke to be completely and utterly done with the event. If she had thought the upper class of Arkadia was snobby when she was in high school, it was nothing compared to how things were now. It seemed with the years - and the current political climate - no one even pretended to be humble anymore. Clarke thinks her skull may split if she has to hear one more person talk about their yacht trip with their choice of name drop, and makes sure to tell Jasper that as she they step outside so she can have a cigarette. 

“I swear,” she mumbles around the unlit cigarette between her lips, digging through her purse for a lighter. She finally manages to find one and makes quick work of lighting the stick, Jasper cupping his hands around it to block out the wind without even being asked. Clarke inhales deeply, holds the smoke for a beat, and then blows it up towards the sky. Almost immediately, her shoulders drop with relief. “If I have to hear one more of those rich pricks brag about their latest _business venture_, we may have to get together a group and bling ring them.” She steps towards the banister at the edge of the balcony, leaning her forearms against it and staring out at the fields that surrounded the mansion. A piece of blonde hair falls over her shoulder, hanging in her eyes as Clarke smokes. 

Jasper snorts as he hovers behind her, tapping something into his phone. “You’re one of those rich pricks, you know.”

Clarke whips her head around to look at him, nostrils already flaring in defense. “I am not! That’s my mom’s money--”

“And it’s about to be yours.” Jasper looks up from his phone and, upon seeing Clarke’s glare, raises both his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, you’re not as bad as them. Not even close. Just saying… You’re about to be part of this crowd, even if you don’t like it. Don’t let it get to your head.” With a shrug, he slides his phone into his pocket, his eyes flickering toward her lit cigarette before meeting hers again. “That thing’s giving me a headache so I think I’m gonna head inside, okay? Come find me when you’re done and we’ll go to The Ark.”

Clarke only gives him a huff in response and turns back to look at the backyard; she knows in her hearts of hearts that he’s right but she feels prickly, even more so than usual despite it being her constant lately. The last thing she needed was a reality check. She pulls hard on the tube, only releasing the big cloud of smoke, and with it, her stress, when she hears the door click behind her. Solitude. 

“Hey.”

Clarke spins around in much the same fashion as she had just a moment ago, though this time it’s more out of momentary fear than anything else but when she sees none other than Bellamy Blake standing in front of her - Bellamy Blake in a suit, she might add - she lets down her defenses, instead leaving way for a roll of the eyes. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

The man chuckles and steps past her, laying his arms on the banister to occupy the spot where she’d just been standing and Clarke falls into the same position next to him. For a long minute, neither of them speaks; the only sounds outside are the cicadas and the rise and fall of breath. It’s not uncomfortable but silences with Bellamy never are. It’s the first time she’s seen him since the incident at the bowling alley and she finds all she wants to do is explain, tell him that she didn’t know about Raven and she’d never intentionally be the other woman, but he speaks before she can even open her mouth to begin.

“Can I?” He’s referencing the cancer stick between her fingers. Clarke doesn’t bother responding, just holds it out to him with her eyes still forward. Their fingers brush as he grabs it and that makes Clarke tilt her head to glance at him, her hair falling across her face as she watches him raise it to his mouth and take a long drag. Even after he blows the smoke out, she’s still watching him, noting the tick in his jaw, hardly visible under his dense brunette stubble, but there.

Only when he looks back at her, offering the cigarette back with a crooked smirk, does she turn away, letting her eyes drift over the backyard yet again. “Keep it.” He does but even through the curtain of her hair, Clarke can feel him continue to look at her. To break the tension, she speaks up again, under her breath but just loud enough for him to hear. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t even know you were here but… Thanks.”

She feels when his eyes leave her face; it accompanies a feeling in her chest she doesn’t quite understand. “I’ve been trying to catch you all night but you seemed busy.” Clarke watches the orange tip of the embers float downward when Bellamy flicks the cigarette, its light going out before it ever touches the ground. Clarke feels like that sometimes. She feels like that now.

“I was.” A pause. “Look, that thing with Finn the other night--”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, look,” Clarke turns to face Bellamy, smoothing her palms down her dress just to give her hands a purpose. “I didn’t know.” Her words are quiet, slow, and Bellamy doesn’t interrupt again, just watches her with silent brown eyes. “I didn’t know about Raven. If I had known… I never would have done… That. You know what he… You know.” She’s referring to her eighteenth birthday party which, really, feels a bit silly at 25 years old but it’s important. At least to her. “I wouldn’t want to put anyone else through that. You believe me right?”

When all he does is nod, Clarke physically reaches out, her fingers curling around his wrist. They both glance down but when their eyes meet again, Clarke’s are a lake swimming with unshed tears. She doesn’t understand why - doesn’t get why she can’t _stand_ the idea of disappointing Bellamy specifically - but at that moment, he’s the one she wants forgiveness from most of all. “I need you to believe me.”

Bellamy’s gentle in the way he lays his hand on top of hers, covering her pale skin in his warmth. Clarke’s gaze flickers down to their hands, her anxiety preventing her from looking Bellamy in the eye; the silence between them consumes her with every passing second. “Hey,” she hears him speak up but still keeps her gaze cast downward; she’s shaking a little and whether it’s from the cold (yes, it’s 70 degrees out and she’s in a velvet dress, but it could be the cold okay?) or from the situation, she can’t - or won’t - say.

“Hey.” He repeats, this time a bit more sternly, and suddenly Clarke’s hand is hit with a breeze and instead, her head is being tilted up. She has no choice but to look him in the eyes, his thumb placed firmly, but gently, on her chin. She’s grateful that she’s had a bit to drink tonight and can blame the alcohol for the flush that takes over her face because the way he’s looking at her is much too intense and since she can’t look away, she blushes all over, the color rising up her neck. Bellamy doesn’t look away despite her squirming, though his hand does drop from her face, landing on the banister in front of them. “I believe you, Clarke.”

She doesn’t know what takes over her right then but Clarke practically launches herself at him, throwing her arms over his shoulders in a tight hug. There’s a brief moment where he just stands there, and Clarke is about to step away, go inside, and try not to think about the fact that she just _literally_ threw herself at a married man, but then he’s wrapping his strong arms around her, holding her in a tight hug that, if she’s honest, she’s needed all week. The two of them stand in that position for what Clarke swears is a full minute, her nose pressed against his shoulder, the bottom of his chin brushing the top of her hair, and even when Bellamy finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on her forearms and his eyes on hers. “Okay?”

Clarke nods her head and that’s when she has to physically force herself to look away from him, her eyes drifting over the backyard once again. He squeezes her forearms once and then steps back, settling back into his position draped over the banister. “Finn’s a dick.” He says simply and all Clarke can do is nod and look over her shoulder when their quiet moment is interrupted by an opening door, the blast of sound from inside bringing her back to reality.

“Um… I should go.”

Bellamy turns his head to look at her and though he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, he ultimately seems to decide against it, instead opting for a small nod of the head as he turns away again. “Have a nice night, Clarke.” His words take her back to the first night they’d spoken in the bar, how he’d said the exact same thing and turned away from her. It confuses her again; every time they seem to have a nice moment, it’s followed by him clamming up. But despite how comfortable she feels with him, it’s possible he doesn’t feel the same way; they hardly know each other at this age. 

Clarke sighs and turns to head inside, but turns over her shoulder one more time, her eyes landing on the back of Bellamy’s head. “You look nice.” She murmurs before stepping back inside the party and letting the door close behind her. If he says anything back, she doesn’t hear it.

* * *

“I should’ve brought an extra shirt, I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Clarke snorts from the seat next to Jasper, her foot colliding with his calf as they both struggle to rid themselves of their fancy outfits. He bellows dramatically in pain and Clarke throws another punch at his shoulder before shimmying the rest of the way out of her velvet attire; Jasper is grappling with his fancy white button down, attempting to get it tucked into his not so fancy black jeans. “You look hot,” she reassures him as she tosses a Rolling Stone t shirt over her head and by the time they pull up to the bar, she has on a pair of bike shorts and some sneakers, her expensive dress forgotten in a pile on the backseat floor. She tries not to think about Jasper’s earlier comments as they climb out of the sleek black vehicle and she tells their driver to go home for the evening. Maybe she was a little better at being carelessly rich than she cared to admit.

Clarke shivers a little as they step onto the sidewalk in front of the bar; it was colder in this part of Arkadia, closer to the harbor where the midnight fog liked to roll in and coat the entire town in a fine mist. But the minute they make it inside their regular drinking hole, she’s hit instead with a fog made of cigarette smoke, and the temperature jumps a good forty degrees. “I’ll go get us some drinks,” Clarke declares, pinching Jasper on the hip; he says something about seeing some of their friends and heads towards the back of the bar while Clarke goes in the opposite direction.

There’s a tall, tan man working the bar that Clarke’s never seen before and she’s grateful for the unfamiliar face for more than one reason. One of them being that she wouldn’t have to run into Echo, who had been less than welcoming of her the past week (and by less than welcoming, Clarke means she’d had to have everyone else order her drinks because Echo wouldn’t even look at her), but that was already a given after having seen Bellamy at her mother's ceremony. It wasn’t like that was _his_ crowd. 

The other reason was that he was cute and Clarke liked cute guys. Sue her.

“Hey,” she shouts over the music, leaning both forearms on the sticky bar counter to lean over it. When the bartender still doesn’t turn, she shouts again, this time her voice raising loudly enough that a few of the other patrons turn to look at her. The bartender turns around then and for a second, Clarke is simply blinded by pearly white teeth against caramel skin, but then he’s walking over and asking what she wants and Clarke has to physically lean back to look into his brown eyes. “Gin and tonic and whatever you’ve got on tap please..” She answers, watching the way his arms flex as he gets to work making and shaking her drink.

He places it in front of her with a flourish and a lime rind on the rim. “A gin and tonic for the lady and a beer for her knight.” He announces, already turning to ask someone else what they want. But before he can go far, Clarke pipes up again, this time just as loud as the last.

“Clarke.” When he turns to look at her with a raised brow, she thrusts her left hand forward for him to shake. “My name’s Clarke. I come here pretty often, like a few times a week, but we’ve never met.” Her fingers are still floating in the air and she’s just about to pull back when he grabs her hand, instead raising it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Her cheeks flush all over when he keeps eye contact and by the time he’s dropped her hand back to the bar, he’s grinning again with those pearly whites. She points over her shoulder with her thumb, gesturing to where her friends are sitting in the back corner. “Not my knight. Just my jester.”

“I’m Gabriel, I just started here. It’s nice to meet you, Clarke.” Clarke feels her smile grow back at the sound of his laugh and she’s about to ask him something else when someone down the bar gets his attention, shouting for a barkeep. He looks between the patron and Clarke but eventually shrugs his shoulders, making his way down the length of the bar while he shouts over his shoulder. “That one’s on the house.” Clarke watches him work for another minute and then jumps off her stool, making her way to the back of the bar where her friends are sitting in their usual booth.

It’s emptier than usual tonight, only consisting of Murphy, Octavia and Jasper. Clarke tries to imagine just Octavia and Murphy hanging out before Jasper got there and physically grimaces at the idea - Octavia would tear him a new one - but before she even has the chance to ask, Jasper is tugging her into the seat next to him, pointing to the two at the table. “They didn’t talk for a whole hour before we got here.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at Octavia, who just shrugs and takes another drink from her beer. When she turns to Murphy, he looks up from his phone, the light from the screen casting shadows on his angular face. “She looked pissed. I knew better than to run my mouth.”

Octavia snorts and mumbles, “since when?” which causes Murphy to knit his eyebrows together and sink further into the booth. Octavia rolls her eyes and jumps up from the table, hustling back towards the bathroom. Clarke can only inwardly laugh at their antics and Jasper stands a second later, saying something about going to talk to some girl he’d made eye contact with across the bar. Clarke agrees but hardly hears him; her mind is a million miles away. Or more like forty. In fact, it’s back at the mansion, on that balcony with the sparkling lights and twinkling eyes--

Her thoughts are pulled away at a sudden rustling around her and she looks up from her drink to find Murphy jumping up from the table. Clarke knits her blonde brows together and looks at him, reaching out to physically touch his elbow, but when he doesn’t even glance at her, Clarke follows his gaze and she swallows hard, pulling herself out of her seat to stand next to him.

“You fucking skank,” Clarke hears the words before anything else, and everyone in the bar gets quiet, turning to look at the culprit. Raven is standing not six feet in front of her, arms crossed over her chest, her high ponytail swinging from the power of storming inside the bar. Clarke’s eyes leave her face for just a second, flickering over her shoulder to see Echo standing behind her, still in what Clarke assumes is what she wore to the event tonight and looking far too smug, before she makes eye contact again. 

“Raven, I didn’t--”

“_Raven, I didn’t--_” She’s mocking her. Clarke physically recoils, ducking her head as though that’ll stop the verbal assault; like it’ll protect her from the venom. “_Bullshit._ You think you can just come back here after six years and take what you want?” She steps forward and Clarke feels, surprisingly, Murphy shift at her side, halfway stepping between them. For just a second, Raven’s attention is on him, her nostrils flared as she tells him to back up. He looks between the two girls, seemingly working out an impossible equation in his head, but eventually steps back, leaving Clarke open to her advances again. 

Raven laughs as she takes another step forward and Clarke goes to move back, but her lower back hits the table next to her. “Did you even think for a second that maybe not _everyone_ was pining over you? That Finn had actually moved on? It’s been six years, you bimbo!”

“Of course I--”

“Shut the fuck up. I knew there was always a reason I didn’t like you.” For just a millisecond, Clarke’s eyes flutter behind Raven, landing on what she swears is a smirking Echo Echo - _there’s the reason_ \- but she leaves just enough time for Raven to act and before Clarke can raise her hands to her face, Raven slaps her clean across the cheek, so hard Clarke’s head physically snaps to the left. 

She hears a shout across the bar - Jasper, she thinks - but hardly has time to even whimper at the pain before Raven places both hands on her chest, shoving her. Hard. Luckily Clarke’s hair covers her face, so no one can see her eyes flood with tears as she falls on the dirty carpet. Her cheek stings and her hip had hit the metal leg of the table as she went down so there was a steady pulsing there too, but Clarke refuses to just lay there on the ground so she swallows past the lump in her throat and forces herself to her feet, her left hand cupping her red cheek. “Don’t touch me, Raven.” She uses her free hand to shove the taller girls shoulder; not a great idea, sure, but any jury would call it self defense so it felt okay in Clarke’s book.

But it clearly wasn’t okay in Raven’s because the small stumble she does back seems to be all it takes for her to snap. She’s on Clarke in seconds, knocking her back to the ground but this time with her on top, straddling her body as she lands a blow on her mouth. Clarke discerns the coppery taste of blood almost immediately. She misses the second time and luckily by the time she goes for a third, she’s being pulled off of Clarke, and Jasper is at her side pulling her up to her feet. She raises her hand to her mouth and it comes away bloody, but it doesn’t seem like anything aside from skin is broken. 

“You’re twenty eight years old, Reyes. Grow the fuck up.” She hears someone exclaim loudly and as she looks at the scene across the bar, she sees Murphy and another drinker holding Raven back and forcing her into a chair. Once it’s clear she won’t get up, Murphy walks over to Echo and though Clarke can’t hear what they’re saying, she can tell it’s about her from the side glances she gets every now and again. And she can also tell Murphy’s pissed, though she assumes it’s still just about Raven. Her attention is pulled away from the two of them by a cold cloth though and she looks up to see the bartender from earlier holding out some ice wrapped in a washcloth.

She grabs it from him and lifts it to her mouth, mumbling a quiet thank you from behind the cloth. He laughs - though his heart doesn’t seem to be in it, probably because someone just got beat up in one of his first days on the job - and looks over her head, then meets her eyes again with a jerk of the head over his shoulder. “Come on, you two can leave out back.” Clarke nods and Jasper ushers her outside with a hand on her shoulder, the two of them following in Gabriel’s footsteps through a crowded stockroom. 

When they step outside, Clarke pulls the ice pack from her face and runs her tongue over her teeth. The sharp taste of blood still lingers but it seemed that the bleeding had at least stopped for the most part. With a sigh, Clarke sinks to the ground, sitting on the dirty curb with her arms wrapped around her knees. Jasper whispers behind her about going to call a cab - something about his phone being dead - and she hears him scurry off. It’s quiet for a second before the other man sits down beside her, matching her position with his arms wrapped around his legs.

It’s quiet for a long minute, then he speaks up, practically whispering. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Clarke shakes her head, pulling herself tighter into her chest so she can rest her chin against her knees. She feels Gabriel nod at her side and the two just lapse into another silence, the only sounds around them that of the honking horns of the city and their shared breathing. It lasts five minutes before she hears footsteps behind them and she stands up, Gabriel following suit at her side.

“Jasp--” She stops when she sees Bellamy standing in front of her. He has a frantic look in his eyes and takes another step toward her but she feels Gabriel shift at her side, ready to step in if this is another person come to attack Clarke. She holds a hand out to stop him and that catches Bellamy’s attention, his eyes landing on Gabriel like it’s the first time he’s realized he’s there. Clarke watches his eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “Hey, Bellamy. What’re you doing here?”

His eyes shoot back to Clarke when she speaks, though she notices him side eyeing Gabriel every few seconds. “Echo called me and told me what happened. I was just hanging out in the car.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb, towards the parking lot. “She said she just needed to grab her paycheck or something...”

She thinks back to when she’d caught Echo’s eye just moments before Raven hit her. She had been smirking, Clarke was sure of it. Picking up her paycheck? Likely. “Oh yeah.” Clarke pulls her arms tight around herself, attempting to block out the chill of the settling fog, but failing with a shiver. She feels Gabriel move beside her and suddenly there’s a large cardigan draped over her shoulders, oversized enough that it hangs almost to her knees. She turns to give him a small smile of thanks before looking back at Bellamy, who now has an expression on his face Clarke can’t quite read. It’s still frantic but… There’s something else. “Um,” she clears her throat. “She and Raven are inside.”

“No, I know…” Again, his eyes flicker to Gabriel, but this time they stay there and Bellamy steps toward him. “I’m sorry, who are you exactly?” He tilts his head as he looks at him. Scrutinizing, Clarke realizes, which annoys her. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

Gabriel doesn’t miss a beat. He puts out his hand for a strong shake, one Bellamy returns with full force. “Gabriel Santiago. It’s my second night here and I’ve never seen you here before either.” It’s clear from the glint in his eye and the crooked smirk on his face that he’s joking but Clarke notices that same tick in Bellamy’s jaw from earlier, and he drops his hand much more harshly than necessary. Gabriel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he just slides his hands back in his pockets and continues. “I was working the bar when everything went down. I just wanted to make sure Clarke here,” he nods toward the blonde, “was okay.”

Bellamy looks between him and Clarke again, his eyes settling on the woman eventually. “Are you okay?” He asks and Clarke can tell his concern is earnest, but at the moment it just annoys her, as frustrated as she is with his wife. She looks away from him, her eyes landing on her shoes as she shuffles from side to side.

“I’m fine. You should go check on Echo.” She answers shortly, and feels Bellamy step forward and reach out to touch her shoulder. She jerks away from his hand and hears him drop it back to his side and take a step backward. 

“Clarke, I just wanted to make sure--” he starts, but she cuts him off, her eyes raising to meet his. Hers are as gray as the fog outside as she speaks.

“You should go check on Echo.” The words are sharp. It’s not a request. She wants him to leave. And he must sense that because he reaches out again, but this time Gabriel steps just slightly in front of Clarke, cutting off Bellamy’s hands path to her. Clarke sees the glare take over Bellamy’s face as he looks up at Gabriel, but the man stays steady, hands still in pockets.

“I think you should go, bro.” He nods towards the cracked backdoor.

It’s silent for a long second and then Bellamy laughs, short and under his breath. “Thanks, _bro_.” He scoffs and turns to walk inside the bar, but at the last second turns and addresses Clarke directly, his gaze so strong across the back curb that Clarke can’t turn away. “I hope you’re okay.” It’s simple but if his goal was to fluster her, he deserved a gold star for meeting it.

The door clicks behind him with a sigh and Clarke turns her body towards Gabriel, already making to take his cardigan off and hand it back to him. She doesn’t even get the chance to pull it off both shoulders though before he’s grabbing and pulling it back on her. He places both hands on the collar, giving it, and her, a light shake. “Keep it. You say you come here all the time, right? Just bring it back next time.” Clarke sighs shakily but eventually nods and slides her arms into the cozy material; it’s worn, with fraying edges, and warm and smells nice. She’s grateful for him at that moment. 

They both look up at the sound of slapping feet against the pavement, Clarke’s shoulders already tensing up. But when Jasper comes running out of the shadows, her muscles loosen up. His eyes flicker between the two of them but land on Clarke, out of breath when he speaks. “Car… Taxi… Around the corner. Come on.”

He reaches for her, grabbing onto the sleeve of the cardigan to pull her after him. Clarke raises her other hand and waves at Gabriel over her shoulder as she stumbles after Jasper. He waves back and laughs and Clarke realizes she’s glad she has his sweater - it means she gets to meet up with him again. They get to the front of the bar and Clarke’s eyes land on a couple arguing in the shadows. The woman has her finger poking into the mans chest and his head is hanging low. Almost as if he can feel her watching, the man looks up and Clarke swears even in the darkness she sees a flash of brown and unruly curls but before her eyes fully have time to focus, she’s being pushed into a taxi and the door is being shut behind her, closing out the cold and the events of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're finally gettin somwhere, huh? these two are morons.
> 
> also yes, welcome to gabriel santiago, who should really have his own character tag by now.
> 
> i know this chapter is a bit early but i'm a little ahead of schedule and wanted to get it up.
> 
> enjoy! kudos and comments always appreciated <3


	5. chapter 5

“I’m taking ambien.”

“You are _not_ taking ambien.”

“Yes, I am. I want to sleep for the car ride.”

“It’s a four hour drive.”

“Then I’ll take half--”

“_No one_ is taking ambien!” Clarke shouts from where she’s loading a tent into the back of Murphy’s jeep. She’d been listening to her friends argue for the past five minutes, most insisting on taking ambien for their car ride to the lake. The only one who was opposed aside from her was Lincoln, Octavia’s fiance, which was pretty typical. He was the oldest of them, after all. As Octavia would put it, he was no fun. But she would say it with literal hearts in her eyes every time while Jasper threw his finger down his throat behind her.

Clarke hears her friends whine behind her but Lincoln comes up to help squeeze the tent into the last corner, thanking her quietly. She just shakes her head and steps back, shielding her eyes from the late sun with one hand and propping the other on her hip. Everyone else is lounging around on their luggage, which sits in a pile on the sidewalk in front of them. They were going to Lake Podakru for the Fourth of July weekend; Echo’s family had a house out there. Everyone had agreed to meet at Clarke’s house at 7 pm sharp, and most people were punctual, but it was getting close to 8 and Bellamy and Echo still weren’t around, nor were they answering their phones, and they had the second truck.

“Where the fuck is my brother?” Octavia says, suddenly at Clarke’s side and lighting a cigarette. Clarke sighs and pulls her newly chopped hair out of her ponytail, letting it fall around her face. At the new length, it hardly touches her shoulders. But the chop had been cathartic and in the late evening July heat, Clarke can’t help but feel grateful for the breeze that hits her neck. Octavia offers her the cigarette after she’s taken a drag and Clarke follows suit, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the sun as it gets lower in the sky.

“I dunno,” she says as she hands the stick back to Octavia, turning to look at their friends; Clarke snorts as she watches Jasper and Murphy fight over the second Switch controller then swivels back to Octavia. “But if he’s not here soon, we’re gonna have to call the campsite. We have to check in before midnight or we’ll lose our spot.” 

Octavia nods at her side, familiar with the campsite rules. They’d spent many a summer there as kids; Clarke’s mom had paid for Octavia to attend summer camp with her daughter for a good three years before Bellamy decided he wanted to be the one to do it when Octavia turned fourteen. He’d managed to send her that summer but that was the last one and though Clarke loved making friendship bracelets as much as the next teenager, it just wasn’t the same without her best friend, so they’d spent their next summer sitting on linoleum at the drug store, bent over a shared copy of Tiger Beat. She thinks that’s the summer they really got to know each other despite having been friends for years before that; there was something about being fifteen that changed their relationship forever.

Almost as if they’d willed it, Bellamy’s rover turns onto her street that minute, pulling directly in front of their friends to the sound of their cheers. Almost before the truck can even come to a complete stop, the passenger seat is being thrown open and then slammed shut again as Echo storms out and towards Raven, who’s standing by herself in the yard, not even flinching when she clips Octavia’s shoulder as she passes. Clarke catches her friends eye, who raises a brow in question but ultimately shrugs. Bellamy climbs out of the car a minute later, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Sorry we’re late guys. Something came up.” His eyes flicker towards his wife but when Clarke turns to look at her, she has her back turned to him and is huddled up with Raven, whispering.

Wasn’t this trip just going to be a blast?

Clarke looks back at Bellamy and starts a little when she sees him watching her but almost as soon as she catches his eye, he turns away, addressing the group again. “So, if you could help me load this thing up real quick, we can be out of here.” Most everyone moves at once, save for Echo and Raven who stay in their coupling off to the side. Clarke feels around in her pockets for her keys and instead of turning to help the group, (she’d mostly loaded the first truck by herself, okay?) makes her way towards her front door.

Once inside, she heads towards the kitchen where she knows she has some instant coffee. It’s definitely not the best coffee around, instants never are, but it’ll do the job. She throws a travel mug full of water into the microwave and sets it to heat for two minutes, in the meantime grabbing some sugar packets from the cabinet and shoving them in the front pocket of her shorts. When the microwave beeps, she scoops a couple spoonfuls of coffee into the water, stirs it until she sees the grinds evaporate, and screws the cap on. By the time she makes it back outside, the car is all packed up and her friends are divvying up seats. 

“Okay,” Murphy claps his hands, stepping forward to take control. When the group boos him, he bends at the waist, making a big show until they quiet down. “Thank you, thank you. So, in my jeep we will have… Drumroll please.” He points to Jasper, who starts a drumroll on his thighs; Clarke rolls her eyes goodheartedly across the circle. “Myself, Reyes, Harper, Monty, and… By special request… Echo!” She sees him glance towards Bellamy but the man doesn’t have any reaction, just stands there with his hands in his pockets. 

Murphy clears his throat before continuing. “Which means the rest of you will be in Bellamy’s car, you unlucky bastards. Don’t be too sad about it.” Octavia feigns a cry, lifting her hand to wipe at her eye. Lincoln shakes his head from her side. “Now break!” All at once, everyone starts climbing into the cars and Clarke follows behind Octavia and her fiance towards theirs. 

When Jasper clambers into the backseat with the other two, Clarke frowns, her eyes flickering between him and the front seat. Either he doesn’t understand the hint or is purposely ignoring her but his eyes get big and he shrugs, mouthing _what_ everytime Clarke opens her mouth to explain. Eventually she rolls her eyes and opens the door, pulling herself into the passenger seat. Bellamy doesn’t even turn to look at her but she drops the travel mug into his cup holder, digging into her pockets to place the sugar packets on top. “You look like you could use that,” she murmurs quietly and then turns to look out the window.

Before he can offer any thanks - if he was even going to - the couple in the backseat has launched into another argument, though this one includes Jasper as well.

“I thought we told you both no ambien?”

That makes Bellamy turn in his seat and he raises an eyebrow at his younger sister and friend. “You took ambien, you idiots? It’s a four hour car ride.”

“We split it!” Jasper pipes up, shooting up from his seat so hard he hits his head on the roof. They all stifle laughs as he holds the spot and it’s like the whole ambien debacle is forgotten because everyone settles into their seats and Lincoln throws an arm around Octavia so she can lean against him. 

“Mmm.. I don’t need drugs to sleep.” He murmurs, closing his eyes as well. _Unbelievable_, Clarke thinks to herself as she turns back around in her seat. They hadn’t even pulled out from in front of her house yet and everyone was ready to go to bed. She sighs, casting Bellamy one more glance before shifting her entire body to the right and rolling her window down as they pull into the road behind Murphy.

* * *

The first half hour of the car ride is filled with absolute silence, save for their friends snoring lightly in the backseat and the quiet music on the radio. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but only because Bellamy and Clarke have yet to speak again after the other night when she’d basically told him to get lost. She’d heard from the bartender Gabriel that Echo hadn’t even had to pick up a check that night and she’d learned from Jasper that he’d run into her and Bellamy at her mother's event and told them to come to The Ark that night, which basically confirmed her suspicions that she was the one to tell Raven she was at the bar. She was still upset and she didn’t think basically accusing Bellamy’s wife of getting her assaulted was a great way to approach a conversation with him.

But then again, what did she know? They certainly didn’t seem happy; every time they were together, Bellamy had a frown on his face. And Echo seemed no better, constantly berating and pointing fingers; however she had acted when Clarke first ran into her at the bar was clearly a fluke. Despite all the good things in her life - or at least, the one - Clarke hardly ever saw her smiling. She doesn’t understand. The girl has money, love, family - it’s presumptuous to assume that means she can’t also be unhappy, Clarke knows that from experience, but to have a sourpuss on your face when you have so much… Well, Jasper has called her out for less.

Clarke had really hoped coming back to Arkadia meant she could reconnect with people from her past, maybe even right some wrongs, and after their conversation the first night, she’d been open to making amends with the woman. But whether it was what happened with Finn or something even she wasn’t aware of, Echo had turned cold overnight. Instead of finding solace in a familiar face the night Raven hit her at the bar, Clarke was left with not just one enemy, but two. None of which was her decision

And she was afraid, at least judging by the silence in the drivers seat, that the number was steadily growing.

But Clarke can feel the energy in the car shift before Bellamy even opens his mouth, so she’s preparing for the worst. “Thanks for the coffee,” is all he says however, his voice quiet, hardly discernible over the whipping wind from their lowered windows. Clarke relaxes into her seat a little more then, feels her shoulders fall with tension she didn’t even realize she was holding onto. She only shrugs in response, afraid if she speaks her voice may give her away, but throws him an easy smile to let him know his gratitude is appreciated. 

They lapse into another ten minute silence, though this one is intentional, at least on Clarke’s part. She’s listening to the song playing - something from Sufjan Stevens, if she guesses correctly - and taking note of the changing colors in the sky. Sunset is her favorite time of day. It creates colors otherwise unknown to the human eye. She wishes she could swatch the sky and put it directly on a palette when she sees those shades, shades impossible to make by hand. But she can’t, so instead she tries to remember them perfectly, train her eye to decipher the different hues of blue and purple and orange. It’s striking against the outline of the mountainside.

When the song fades out and into the next one, she verbally sighs, rolling her head back to look at the roof. “God,” she mumbles, just loud enough for Bellamy to hear. “Sufjan into Death Cab? This has to be Octavia’s playlist.” She’s the one who had gotten her into the latter band in high school and Clarke connected many of their songs with experiences she’d had in her formative years. The song playing now was one she’d always liked, but never attached any memories to.

“Mine, actually.” Bellamy replies, eyes still on the road ahead. 

Clarke thinks he might say more but he never does and after the song ends and the sun has set low in the sky, she speaks up, hoping to break the silence. “Did you… Was everything okay the other night?”

Bellamy rips his eyes away from the road for a moment, glancing at Clarke before looking back. He shrugs. “It was fine. There was nothing to worry about, Echo didn’t get in a fight.” He shifts in his seat, his hands falling lower on the steering wheel. “You did.” He adds quietly.

Clarke squirms in her seat. She’d known at the time that she was being rude, blowing him off for something he likely wasn’t even involved in, but seeing his reaction now really made her regret her actions. Really regret them.

She’s quiet for a long time, tapping her fingers against her knee neuoritically. When she can’t stand the silence anymore, she finally speaks up, the words rushing out of her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Bellamy clears his throat, looking into the rearview mirror to check on their friends. Clarke does the same, smiling just slightly when she sees both Jasper and Octavia with their heads on Lincoln’s shoulders. She catches his dark eyes in the mirror but he’s the first to look away, back towards the road. He’s always the first to look away. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Clarke shakes her head - he’d misunderstood. “You didn’t interrupt anything.”

It’s clear from the way he shrugs his shoulders that he doesn’t believe her.

* * *

The rest of the ride to the lake is consumed in silence; two hours in, it gets so thick and uncomfortable that Clarke has to go to sleep herself, shoving her earphones into her ear and putting on a boring podcast. She’s woken by a gentle shaking on her shoulder and she assumes it’s Bellamy but by the time she opens her eyes, he’s already gone from the car and the three in the backseat are climbing out and stretching. Clarke checks her watch. 11:43.

Clarke steps out of the car and stretches her arms over her head, her top riding up to expose her stomach as she does. “We need to check in,” she says through a long yawn. 

“Already done,” she hears Bellamy answer from the other side of the truck and her chest swells with something warm; appreciation.

Someone physically pushes past her, causing her to stumble forward and catch herself on Jasper’s arm, who doesn’t even react through his post ambien haze. She watches Raven and Echo go into the lake house, not even bothering to grab any bags, and Raven tosses her a smirk over her shoulder. Her cheeks flush with frustration and, yeah, Clarke’s beginning to regret coming on this trip.

“She’s an ass,” she hears from behind her, and turns to see Murphy grabbing bags out of the back of the rover. He tosses a few on his shoulders, holding an additional two in each hand. “I’m willing to bet Finn blamed you in some way. It’s not the first time it’s happened either but...” He shrugs his shoulders and starts making his way towards the stairs that lead to the lake house.

“What do you mean?” Clarke questions, which causes Murphy to stop in his tracks.

He shrugs again with his back to her, his voice traveling towards the lake house when he speaks. Clarke strains to hear him. “Collins has been cheating on her as long as I can remember. I caught him with some girl at the bar once…” John chuckles, but the sound is bitter even to Clarke’s ears. “She didn’t believe me.” Before Clarke can think to ask anymore, he’s walking off, tossing a lighthearted joke over his shoulder to undoubtedly rid Clarke of the notion that he cares about anyone but himself. “But when you’re the smartest woman in the world, why would you believe a lowly cockroach?”

Clarke sits with his words for a minute, letting them wash over her. Clarke knew she had missed a lot in the time she was gone, but she was beginning to see that she really had no idea. Tensions ran deep in the friend group and though their love for each other was palpable, when you get so close, there’s bound to be disagreements and even fights. Apparently no one was safe from one another’s wrath which, in a way, is comforting. Maybe everything could be worked out afterall.

Sighing, Clarke gives Jasper a gentle push towards the lake house, telling him to go lay down. They could grab everything else in the morning. She turns to close the back of Bellamy’s car and jumps when she sees him still standing there, leaning against the drivers side of his car. He has his head hung low and an unlit cigarette between his lips. 

Clarke takes a step towards him. “Hey, were you gonna come in?”

When he meets Clarke’s eyes, his look glassy, but she can’t tell if it’s just the way the moon hits his glasses or her imagination. He gives her a smile, a weak one but a smile nonetheless, and refers to the stick between his lips. “In a minute. I think I’m gonna smoke this first.”

Clarke nods and turns to walk away but finds herself looking at Bellamy once again. “Do you want any company?”

He seems to contemplate it for a second, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. But right before the silence gets too long he shakes his head and puts it back between his lips, flicking a lighter at the front of it. “Nah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She accepts defeat with a nod of the head and turns to walk inside, shoving both hands deep in her pockets. She was going to smoke too but it feels wrong bothering him now when he’s expressed his desire to be alone. She supposes opening a bedroom window is as good as anything. “Sleep well,” she murmurs, starting towards the house.

“You too, Clarke,” is his reply

* * *

Clarke always forgets how hot it is at Lake Podakru until it’s 4 am and she can’t sleep because she’s tangled in her sheets, blonde hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. Like now, for instance. Clarke has hardly gotten much sleep all night; it seems like no matter the position, she can’t get comfortable. Sleeping on her side only allows airflow to either her back or her front, whereas sleeping on her stomach is just uncomfortable and sleeping on your back is for crazy people. Not to mention this house made a lot of noises and all night she’s heard creaking, both from the stairs and, if the steady spring noise that carried on for fifteen minutes was any indication, one of the couples in the room next to her (She can’t help hoping it’s not one couple in particular because.. Ew.). Add all of that on top of Jasper’s snoring and it doesn’t look like Clarke is going to be falling into her rem cycle anytime soon.

With a frustrated groan, she throws the blankets off of her, the tangled fabric landing in a pile on the hardwood floor. The blonde sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to touch the floor. She’s in pajama pants and an oversized shirt but finds she can’t stand the fabric sticking to her legs so she rips them off, sighing in nothing but euphoria at the feeling of warm air hitting her bare skin. Already she feels a million times better and tiptoes across the bedroom, trying to refrain from making any noises on the old hardwood or let the door squeak as she opens it to the hallway.

She’s silent as she makes her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, using her phone flashlight to guide her way. Once there, she stands on her tiptoes to grab a glass from the cupboard and then holds it under the faucet, filling the cup with tap water. She chugs it so fast that half the glass spills down the front of her white shirt, but she doesn’t mind, actually relishing in the slide of cool material against her skin.

After she’s drank - and spilled - another glass of water, she places her glass in the sink and turns off her flashlight to make her way back upstairs, but slams right into another body at the bottom of the stairs. She opens her mouth to scream right as they press their hand down on it, effectively cutting her off. Clarke’s mind immediately goes into panic mode and she bites down, hard, which makes the person jerk their hand away and swear in pain. When Clarke recognizes the voice, she squints her eyes, trying to adjust in the darkness.

“Bellamy?”

“Fuck, yeah. Sorry.” Clarke immediately moves towards him in the dark, grabbing his hand with both of hers. The pads of her fingers flit over his palm, making out her teeth marks against his skin in the dark. There’s the warmth of a little blood and she giggles - yes, giggles - when she feels it, which causes him to try and pull his hand away, but her grip is firm and she keeps it clasped between both of hers. 

“Why would you put your hand over my mouth?” She asks as she closes his fingers into his palm, making sure he can stretch the broken skin. Maybe some of her mother’s medical jargon stuck with her after all.

Bellamy sighs, his arm stretched between them. “I didn’t want you to scream. Looking back, it was a horrible idea but hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

Clarke only shakes her head and starts tugging him down the hallway, towards the bathroom she had scouted out when she first made it into the house. He asks where she’s taking him but Clarke ignores him until they make it into the bathroom and she flicks a light on, basking the small room in a warm yellow glow. She shoves him towards the closed toilet, telling him to sit on it, and he complies as she digs under the sink for a first aid kit. When she stands back up, brandishing one with a flourish, Bellamy clears his throat and turns his head away from her, towards the tiled wall. “Your shirt.” 

Once glance in the mirror makes Clarke squeak, the first aid kit flying into the sink as she raises her arms to cover her chest. She’d completely forgotten about the wet fabric.

“Um…” Clarke starts, already making her way to back out of the room. Before she can make it very far though, Bellamy is pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in her general direction, leaving him clad in just a pair of gray sweats. She physically freezes at the look of his bare chest; taut muscles, broad shoulders, hard stomach. Oh.

“Put that on.” When Clarke hesitates, he repeats himself and turns his entire body physically away from her, his eyesight glued on the wall in front of him. She turns her back to him as well and makes quick work of shucking the white shirt on the floor and instead pulling his black band tee over her head - Coldplay, she notes. Good choice.

His shirt hits her mid thigh, a little higher than the one she’d been wearing before, and she tugs it down in the back a few times before making her way over to him. “You can turn back around.” She mumbles, her attention back on the first aid kit. When she turns to look at Bellamy, she catches him just in time to see his eyes travel back up the length of her body, and when he catches her gaze, he flushes. They both do in fact, but Clarke hides it by dropping her head, referencing the materials she has in her hand. “Uh, this is gonna sting.”

She stands between Bellamy's legs as she wipes his hand clean with some alcohol and a cotton ball. He sucks through his teeth at the burn; Clarke tries not to pay too much attention to the way the panes of his stomach tense up. After the wound is sterilized, she dresses it with some cotton and a Minion bandaid, much to his chagrin. He groans when he sees it, but Clarke titters in front of him and when he looks up at her, she can tell he’s fighting back a smile. “You’re taller than me like this, you know.”

“Believe me, I can tell,” she retorts with a laugh, curling his fingers up and giving him a pat on the hand. She steps away from him to begin putting the medical materials back but she can feel his eyes on her, following her every move around the small bathroom. “So, why were you coming downstairs?” She asks, catching his eye in the mirror. 

They’re darker than before, devoid of the amused sparkle that was there just moments ago. Something’s changed. 

He’s quiet for awhile, watching her with an intensity that’s almost too strong for Clarke, that makes her duck her head as she cleans up, makes her try to hide her cheeks with her newly chopped locks. “I was thirsty.” He answers, short and simple, before standing up and taking a step towards Clarke. She physically turns to look at him and stumbles back in surprise at his sudden closeness, the counter pressing into her lower back as she gazes upward. “Clarke, listen--”

Clarke watches his teeth sink into his lip, effectively cutting himself off from speaking any further. For a long beat, neither of them speak, just stand staring at each other with very little space between them (to put it into perspective, if they were standing that close at one of Clarke’s religious middle school dances, the nuns would’ve told them to go to opposite sides of the room). She knows, in the back of her mind, that it’s inappropriate. That they’re only separated from his wife by the thin layer of wood above their heads. That they’re only separated from each other by the thin layer of cotton adorning her body.

But she writes it off due to the fact that nothing is actually _happening_. Bellamy is just standing there, these thoughts are completely in her own head, and besides the bathroom is really, _really_ small. She makes a move to turn back around but is stopped by Bellamy’s hand coming up, brushing a short piece of hair out of her eyes. For just a second, his thumb slips against her temple and Clarke swears it’s like he branded her; she can feel the press of his skin even after he’s gone, even after he’s turned away and dropped his hand to his side, busying himself with cleaning the supplies around them. “Your hair looks nice,” she hears him mumble, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

After she finds her breath again - which takes an embarrassingly long amount of time, really - Clarke clears her throat and turns back around to finish the task she’d started. “I’m pretty tired so I think I’m going to go to bed.” She sees him glance at her in the mirror, the look that had just been on his face gone so suddenly that Clarke’s left to wonder if it wasn’t a figment of her imagination, something she made up because she wanted it to be true. When he doesn’t say anything back, she takes that as her cue to throw the first aid kit back under the sink and turn to look back at Bellamy, though he’s looking anywhere but at her. “Um… Thank you for… This.” She gestures towards his shirt and his eyes narrow but he just nods, though Clarke sees his adam's apple bob as he swallows. “I’ll get it back to you.”

“Yeah.” Is his only response and then he turns away, moving to turn on the shower. Clarke takes the sound of the water hitting the porcelain as her cue to leave and closes the door behind her, hearing it click with a lock as she makes her way towards the stairs.

* * *

Upstairs is just as hot as when she left, though it feels worse now, combining with the fire that burns underneath Clarke’s skin. It makes her fall into bed, pulling the sheet from the floor and tugging it all the way up to her chin. Her skin feels red hot underneath the cool cotton and as hard as she tries to sleep, she can’t seem to put out the fire in her belly. After another ten minutes of tossing and turning, she does what she’s wanted to since the moment she closed the bathroom door - she shoves her hands down her panties and rubs the alphabet into her slick skin. 

Or… At least six letters of it.

She tells herself it’s not about _that_, that which she won’t even put a name to. She tells herself she needs it, deserves it even, that it’ll help her fall asleep and settle the feeling in her stomach - that’ll it’ll extinguish the licking flames. But when she cums - once, twice, three times - with her fingers buried deep inside herself, it’s with _that_ name on her lips, muffled as she bites into the sleeve of the borrowed black t-shirt that sticks to her sweaty body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're off. hope you enjoy this midnight snack. i figured it was fitting for the setting.
> 
> i'm trying to write more internal dialogue for clarke so let me know how you felt about it this chapter!
> 
> also the songs they listened to in the car are the dress looks nice on you by sufjan and passenger seat by death cab.
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated as always.


	6. chapter 6

When Clarke wakes up the next morning, she’s sticky, ashamed, and already sweating; one look at her phone tells her it’s 8 am and approximately 94°F. It was going to be a scorcher. 

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms over her head with a loud groan and a pop of the back. Looking across the sun streaked room, Clarke can see Jasper still asleep, his mouth wide open and blankets tangled around his body. After her eyes have had a moment to adjust to the room, Clarke stands from her bed, grabs a towel from the closet, and makes her way out into the hallway. 

Her fingers are crossed as she opens the door, hoping she won’t have to run into anyone before she’s even had her first cup of coffee; it was bad enough with a full night of sleep but Clarke with only 3 or 4 hours? She wasn’t afraid to say she turned into a monster. 

Luckily, no one seems to be around and, judging by the stillness in the air, they don’t even seem to be up yet. Clarke sighs with relief as she lets herself into the bathroom, immediately turning the hot water up in the shower. When she catches her reflection in the mirror, she has to look away; it’s not until she’s shucked the oversized black t shirt over her head and stepped out of her underwear that she gives herself another glance. She looks as guilty as she feels.

In the shower, Clarke tries to wash away all the bad feelings and anxieties that have been plaguing her for weeks, only made worse by her little escapade the night before. As comfortable as she may feel around Bellamy at times, she needed to be less so. He was a married man and she didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea - especially herself. Though she can admit to herself that he’s attractive - and that she is attracted to him - it’s best to leave it at that. He was becoming a good friend, one who forgave her no matter the fact that she’d now snapped at him multiple times; he always was ready to step back into easy patterns and return their relationship to where it was before she decided to afflict it. 

She decides right then and there to not let last night affect anything - if anything even happened, though she’s not convinced it wasn’t all just a fever dream manifested from feeling physically too hot in the lake house. 

Regardless, a good place to start probably wouldn’t be thinking about him in the shower.

Clarke finishes washing the conditioner out of her hair and turns the shower off, wrapping a fluffy white towel around herself when she steps out. If she can say one good thing about Echo Snow (er, Blake?) and her family - and, really, she can only think of one - it’s that they didn’t skimp off the top. She takes a few extra minutes in there, brushing her hair and sliding expensive lotion all over her body, before making her way back into the sunny hallway. There’s noise downstairs now, light music and the sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen, and Clarke’s nose picks up the sharp scent of coffee. She inhales deeply, making a mental note to grab a cup when she heads downstairs. 

She turns to walk towards her bedroom, the fifth door on the left, when she sees the one directly across from hers open up. Clarke tucks her chin to her chest, hoping her blonde hair will act as a shield that says she doesn’t want to be bothered at the moment. She grips her towel tighter and makes the final trek to her room; she even almost makes it, but is interrupted right as her hand touches the doorknob with a snort and a condescending, “You didn’t use all the hot water, did you?”

Normally, Clarke would let it slide. It’s not worth the energy, especially this early in the morning. The culprit, Echo, was probably just as groggy as Clarke was, it was nothing personal. Right? Except it was continuous. Jesus, Clarke can’t even walk around without being berated, it seems. Frankly, she finds it childish and a waste of time that she’s clung to some sort of issue she had with Clarke when they were younger, an issue she’d entirely made up in her own head, and often that doesn’t merit any sort of response. But whether it’s the lack of caffeine in her bloodstream or the conclusion Clarke had come to about the night Raven attacked her, Clarke feels prickly, and spins on her heel to stare Echo in the eyes. The smirk on the brunette’s face just boils Clarke’s blood further.

“Why don’t you fuck off, Echo?” She proclaims, and despite the fact that it’s a weak comeback, it works. The brunette’s smirk visibly falters, just for a second, but it’s enough time to spark Clarke’s own up. For a minute, the two just stand there and stare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to back down and walk away. Clarke thinks they might’ve stayed there all day if someone didn’t interrupt, but the door to Clarke’s left opens up and Murphy comes stumbling out, eyes still half closed, hair a mess on the top of his head. 

Both girls look at him at the same time and he stops in his tracks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he takes in the scene in front of him. After he processes - Clarke feels like she can actually see the gears turn in his head - he gets a sleepy smirk on his face and grumbles, voice still heavy, “Man, I must be dreaming if your faces are the first thing I see in the morning.” Echo groans while Clarke rolls her eyes, which just makes Murphy’s smirk grow larger. Before he or the other woman can say another word, Clarke’s turns, opens her door, and slips inside her shared bedroom, effectively cutting off whatever comment was about to come out of his mouth.

Clarke’s surprised to see Jasper already gone from the room, usually he was one of the latest risers, but is grateful for his absence as it lets her drop the towel to the floor and look freely through her suitcase for something to wear. She decides on another pair of shorts similar to the ones she wore the day before, though these are slightly shorter and a lighter wash, and a simple blue tank top, opting for just throwing her bikini on underneath. She’d be needing it later anyway.

With her newly cut hair, she doesn’t have to do much, and can let it just float around without any real direction. She decides to leave it down for now, though she snaps a scrunchie onto her wrist in case she’ll need it later in the afternoon, and tucks a pair of sunglasses into the front of her top, which drags it down just enough to reveal a sliver of cleavage. Only when she’s satisfied with how she looks does she head downstairs.

Monty and Harper are sitting at the kitchen table, the latter on her husband's lap despite the plethora of empty chairs that litter the space. The side door - though it’s really like the entirety of the wall - is propped open, revealing their deck which overlooks the lake, sparkling in the early morning sun. Jasper is sitting on the edge, his feet dipped in the water as he smokes out of a bong. Clarke smiles at her friends, all of whom wish her a good morning but know better than to engage further, as she walks over to grab a cup of coffee. It’s the last of the pot and she sips on it while it’s still hot as she gets busy making another. By the time she finishes her first mug, the second pot is ready, and she pours herself eight ounces of that then walks out to join Jasper on the porch.

“Mornin’,” he says through a mouthful of smoke, offering the glass piece to Clarke. She waves him away with her cup of coffee, dragging her toes in the water below them. The water was cold the deeper you got but the surface was already starting to heat up, Clarke couldn’t wait to take a dip later. “I woke up last night and you were gone.” Jasper says casually after he’s taken another hit.

Clarke doesn’t get the chance to answer before Harper is plopping at her other side, reaching across Clarke to grab the bong from Jasper. “Where’d you go?” She asks, flicking the lighter and taking a long drag. 

Clarke watches her, impressed when she doesn’t even cough, before answering her question. “It was scorching in that room, I needed some water.”

Harper nods at her side, passing the piece back to Jasper and then falling backwards to lay on the wood deck. She tosses her left arm over her eyes and motions with her right for Clarke to come join her which she does, settling next to her friend with her feet still in the water. “It was hot in my room too. I had to sleep naked.”

Clarke hears a quiet _”lucky me”_ muttered by Monty and she and Harper both giggle, Harper turning into Clarke’s shoulder and tossing her arm across her chest. They stay like that for a minute, basking in the morning sunlight as Jasper smokes beside them; it’s quiet, warm, and a moment with her two friends that makes her glad she decided to go on the trip, after much berating on their end. 

The moment is only interrupted when the sound of footsteps on the stairs cuts through the comfortable silence, hushed voices carrying across the wooden space.

“I told you - I went to get some water.”

“Yeah? And what happened to your hand?!”

“Jesus Chr-- can we _not_ do this right now, Echo?”

“Excuse me? When would you like to do it then?”

Clarke feels Harper sit up and turn to look inside beside her but she stays in her spot on the porch, watching the ducks wade across the water. Octavia had mentioned in passing that Echo and Bellamy fought a lot but Clarke considered that an understatement. Aside from the time at the bowling alley, she’d never seen them _not_ fighting. It wasn’t her business of course, but when they argued in front of the group without any sort of consideration for how awkward it made things, well, it kind of became _everyone’s_ business.

“Well, not right no--”

“Morning!” Clarke turns to see Harper shooting up, an easy smile on her face as she makes her way inside. One glance at Jasper and his shrug of the shoulders is all the confirmation she needs that Harper does this often; that’s the kind of person she is - the mediator. With a sigh, Clarke hoists herself up, turning on the deck with one leg crooked under her, the other still hanging in the water. She can see inside now and watches Harper give the couple a hug - or at least attempt to. While Bellamy is in her grip, Echo walks off into the kitchen, leaving the two alone. She sees Harper whisper something to Bellamy and after a second he nods, his shoulders dropping from where they’d begun to hunch around his ears. She claps him on the shoulder and then walks away, heading into the kitchen after, presumably, Echo.

Clarke sighs and lies back on the deck. She slides her sunglasses on her face but closes her eyes nonetheless, her arm slipping behind her head as a makeshift pillow. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

By the time noon rolls around, everyone is either drunk or stoned or sunburnt - or, in Jasper’s case, all three - and teetering on hangry. After Raven snaps at Murphy for what must be the sixth time (arguing with him about something to do with physics, Clarke thinks. She’s not sure, science was never her thing.) Clarke has to launch herself out of her lawn chair, in fear she may be the next to yell at the two. She hears Murphy call after her, ask what she’s doing, but she doesn’t respond, just hustles inside the house with slapping footsteps. 

Once she arrives at her destination, the kitchen, she starts digging through the fridge, pulling out hot dogs and condiments, all of which she plops on the counter carelessly. She’s busy looking for buns when Octavia comes strolling inside, heading towards the fridge for another cold beer. “Hey,” she calls as she digs through the drawer next to the sink, finally coming up with a bottle opener and popping her top off. “Anything I can help with?”

Clarke shakes her head as she gathers everything onto a big tray on the counter. “Thanks though,” Octavia tips her beer towards Clarke in acknowledgment and then goes to stand by the window, staring out at all their friends lounging on the deck. When she speaks, Clarke can’t see where her eyes are focused, but it’s not hard to guess based on the tone of her voice. 

“I don’t know why she even came if she’s going to be miserable the whole time.” 

Clarke pauses in her motions and instead goes to join Octavia, the two standing side by side as they look out the window at Bellamy and Echo, confirming Clarke’s suspicions. Echo is lounged on the deck, laying on her stomach with her bikini top untied in the back - God forbid she get tan marks like a normal person - and Bellamy is a few feet away, reading a book with his feet dangling off the edge and into the water. It would look like a normal couple enjoying the lake, if it weren’t for the tension so clearly visible in both their shoulders and backs. 

The blonde shrugs beside her friend, turning back to her task at hand of gathering lunch materials. “Some people like to be miserable, O. You know that better than anyone.” She’s referring to all the foster homes her friend had been in, how so many of them were just shells filled with miserable souls, how Octavia was one of those miserable souls herself from ages twelve to fifteen, until Bellamy got them out of their shitty situation. 

It’s quiet for a long beat and Clarke begins to get afraid she may have offended her friend but when she turns to check on her, she finds Octavia facing her, watching Clarke with a tilted head. “Yeah…” She says slowly; there’s something in her voice that Clarke can’t translate. Eventually she looks away, casting another glance over her shoulder. “But she makes him miserable too. That’s not fair. He should be having fun.”

Clarke grabs the tray off the counter, holding it with both hands as she makes a move toward the open door. “Then you should make him have some fun.” A small smile grows on Clarke’s face. “Or get rid of her,” she jokes, but she doesn’t like the way Octavia’s eyes light up at her words. Her smile drops immediately. “I’m kidding, O.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Octavia says but the way she waves her hand and marches past Clarke with purpose makes her groan. Oops.

Clarke follows her outside but turns to the left, heading towards the barbecue. She hears whooping from behind her, her friends cheering from their spots, and dances a little as she walks, much to their amusement. She’s had just enough drinks to bring down her inhibitions without making her a shit-faced idiot. After she places the tray down, she starts looking at the barbecue, contorting her body in all weird manners in an attempt to get a flame started. She’s about to admit defeat and ask for help when a tan hand slides into her view, turning a knob she hadn’t even seen. She looks up at a smirking Bellamy, her own lips turning up in a smile in return. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” There’s no awkwardness in his voice or eyes, nothing that says they (she) acted inappropriately last night - maybe she really _did_ imagine it. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she says once she sees him start to open the hot dogs and place them on the grill. He replies with a laugh.

“Do you know how everyone likes their dogs?” Clarke raises an eyebrow, taking a step forward so she’s directly at his side and can see what he’s doing; he’s placing them all on various places on the grill and before Clarke can ask why, he explains. “Jasper, Monty and Lincoln like theirs practically burnt so they go on direct heat. Harper and Reyes likes theirs even, so they go a little further back. Everyone else really ‘doesn’t care’,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “so I do them a little differently each time as punishment for not knowing how to make a decision.”

Clarke laughs out loud at his quip and he grins at her, pleased by her response, until they’re interrupted by a scream followed by a loud splash. The entire group turns to look at Octavia standing on the edge of the deck trying, but failing, to look innocent. A quick head count confirms Clarke’s fears. “Octavia!” She hisses through her teeth, right as Lincoln says her name from across the deck. A drenched, and pissed, Echo hauls herself out of the lake, streaks of mascara falling down her cheeks. She kind of looks like a panda, Clarke notes, before all hell breaks loose. 

“Oops.” Octavia titters right as Echo jumps towards her. Everyone runs at them at once, though Clarke ends up being the one to force herself between the two girls first. She gets hit once in the cheek and another time in the ear, though there’s no telling where the hands come from. She manages to separate the two women long enough to make sure no one’s bleeding - at least not profusely - and then Lincoln is dragging Octavia away by the waist while Bellamy steps in front of Echo, telling her to go take a seat. She attempts looking over his shoulder at Octavia but Clarke stands directly in her path, earning her a scowl from the affronted brunette. 

Once she’s sure Bellamy has his wife contained, along with Raven’s help of course, Clarke turns on her heel and runs inside the house to find her friend. Octavia is sitting on one of the tall bar stools in the kitchen while Lincoln sterilizes a scratch on the side of her neck. She smiles at Clarke when she walks in, her eyes lit up despite the situation that just occurred. 

“You okay?” Clarke asks as she settles into the seat next to her, reaching out for her friends hand. Octavia laces her fingers through Clarke’s and gives her hand a tight squeeze.

“Never felt better.”

Clarke and Lincoln share a quick look; she doesn’t know him all that well, but it’s easily discernible - Octavia is drunk. Clarke turns and brushes Octavia’s dark hair out of her eyes, forcing her to look directly at her. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she reprimands gently, her left hand squeezing steadily. Octavia’s smile falters for a beat but then it’s back, bright as ever.

“I don’t regret it,” she says as she hops down from the stool, much to Lincoln’s displeasure. Her hand is still clasped in Clarke’s, though her arm stretches with the distance between them. “You know she deserved it, Clarke.” She’s tugging on her arm like a child. “You know it! And you know it, too!” She whirs on Lincoln, her damp hair hitting Clarke in the face. “You know _everything_.” It’s clear from her tone that _everything_ means something Clarke doesn’t quite understand; before she can ask, Lincoln is grabbing Octavia gently by the shoulders, causing her to drop Clarke’s hand.

“That’s enough,” he tells her, his eyes stuck on her own. The two stare at one another for a long while, communicating something with their eyes that Clarke will never be able to understand. Eventually Octavia sighs and nods, sinking into her fiance’s chest, who wraps her up in his arms immediately. Clarke, feeling like she’s witnessing a silent moment meant just for the two of them, heads outside to join her friends who are gossiping about the situation in the corner.

“Anyone wanna go out on the floaty?” She interrupts their chitter with a clap of the hands. There’s a quick commotion and everyone is up, jumping onto the giant floating island they’d bought and leaving the two couples to figure their shit out. 

_Team Switzerland_, Jasper calls them as they sunbathe in the middle of the lake. 

“Hear, hear!” Harper and Monty yell in unison, Murphy answering with a noncommital grunt. 

Clarke doesn’t respond. She’s Team Octavia.

* * *

They come in off the lake an hour later, dragged toward shore by a swimming Murphy and Monty. When they get there, Echo and Raven are nowhere to be found but Bellamy and Octavia are sharing a lounge chair and a joint, their heads bent low in conversation, and Lincoln is cooking up some burgers on the grill. The hot dogs had been completely unsalvageable, he tells Clarke, pulling out a black, phallic shape from the trash as proof. She thanks him with a beer and is about to walk back over to Team Switzerland when Octavia waves her over to her and her brother.

“Hey,” Clarke says as she saddles up to their side, giving them both a tight lipped smile. Octavia returns it, though Bellamy’s looks more like a grimace, his eyes never fully meeting hers. Octavia pats the spot next to her and Clarke climbs into it, though it’s a tight squeeze with the three of them now on a lounge chair. Her thigh presses up against Octavia’s, her bare foot squished somewhere against Bellamy’s hip. Neither makes any move to shift though and she settles into the space, accepting the joint from Octavia when it’s passed to her. “Everything good?”

Octavia nods her head but when Bellamy doesn’t answer, she kicks him in the thigh, raising both eyebrows when he looks at her exasperatedly. “She asked you something,” she pointedly nods towards Clarke.

Bellamy sighs and turns to face her; his eyes are dull and his smile is tired but he nods nonetheless. “It’ll be fine,” he answers. Clarke doesn’t believe him but chooses to let it go, instead handing the joint off to him once she’s hit it enough to feel significantly more stoned. 

The three of them sit there, watching Lincoln cook the burgers and passing a joint between them until it burns their fingers and Bellamy throws the butt into an ash tray. Octavia excuses herself then, lifting herself from the chair and running off, saying something about having to pee. Clarke settles into her new space, leaning against the back of the chair, though the new position leaves her and Bellamy alone and eye to eye. She gives him a small, closed lipped smile - one he returns. “Is everything really okay?” She asks quietly, only loud enough for him to hear. 

Bellamy waits a long second before replying, the sigh evident in his voice. “She’s pissed but rightfully so.” He runs a hand through his curls and Clarke’s eyes become transfixed on the one that always flops against his forehead, brushing the freckles there. “Octavia really shouldn’t have done that. But Echo also shouldn’t have put her hands on my sister.” Clarke can feel his internal battle from her seat and sits up, reaching out to lay her hand on his shaking knee. It stills beneath her fingers.

“She did it for you, you know.” It’s not meant to make him feel bad, just a simple fact. Octavia had only done what she had because she thought Bellamy was having a bad time, she’d told Clarke as much in the kitchen. “She just wanted you to have a good time so she went for the first obstacle she could think of.”

Bellamy’s eyes flicker up at that and Clarke watches the way his jaw tenses, a muscle jumping right below his ear. He doesn’t say anything for a second but when he does, it’s slow, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I don’t really… Think that’s any of your business, Clarke.” Clarke can tell it’s not meant to hurt her feelings but her chest still tightens; just slightly, but it’s there.

She swallows hard, turning away from him and instead focusing her eyes on the sky. The sun is starting to set again, pastel purples and yellows washing the sky and reflecting on the lake beneath it. Her friends dance on the deck, outlined by the shadows the trees create. It’s beautiful. She should be focusing on that. “You’re right.” She answers shortly, pulling her hand back from Bellamy’s leg. 

She feels him sigh across from her and this time it’s him who reaches out, placing his large hand on her knee. Clarke’s heart jumps in her throat. “I’m sorry, I know you mean well-”

Clarke shakes her head and pulls herself up from the chair, swinging her legs over the arm to stand up. “No, you’re right. This is between you and your wife and your sister.” She clears her throat, eyes still stuck on the lake; she refuses to look at him but eventually can’t help it, her head turning to the left. He’s watching her and he genuinely does look sorry; she feels bad for blowing him off, but he’s also right. It _isn’t_ her business. She’s grateful for the reminder. “I’m gonna get a burger, you want one?”

Bellamy eventually shakes his head, turning away when he sees Clarke isn’t going to stay despite his apology. “I’m good.” He says shortly and there it is again. 

Every time they talk, it ends like this. Clarke’s starting to get annoyed with it.

She’s starting to get annoyed with _him_.

She stares at him for another minute but when it’s clear he’s done with the conversation and doesn’t plan to say anymore, Clarke scoffs, tossing him a tired “whatever, Bellamy” as she stalks off towards the barbecue.

* * *

Clarke doesn’t see Echo and Raven for the rest of the night. She has no clue where they’ve gone, doesn’t even know if they’re still on the property or not, but they’re MIA and she isn’t complaining. In fact, she relishes in the feeling of being able to sit around a makeshift bonfire with her friends, letting the heat lick up her shins, without the anxiety of being berated the minute she opens her mouth. Or without the fear of being shoved into the open flame _accidentally_.

“--and then I told him to fuck off!”

Clarke can hear Octavia recounting a telltale story from their childhood - albeit some of the details weren’t exactly there - all the way from her spot where she stands on the shoreline, tossing rocks into the water. It fills her chest with warmth that her friend still thinks enough of her to speak about her when she’s not there, it gives her hope for the future of their relationship.

Despite having grown up together being practically inseparable, they’d fallen out when Clarke moved to New York. There was no bad blood between the two of them, they were just young and easily distracted. Octavia had met Lincoln around the same time and while Clarke didn’t like to admit it even now, she’d gotten caught up in the hustle and bustle of the city and not been as good of a long distance friend as she could have been. Only in the last year had the girls really reconnected after Clarke had received a follow request from Octavia on Instagram. It had started with commenting heart eyes on each others selfies and turned into late night facetimes so quickly it was almost like they had never even fallen out. While Clarke knew she had Harper and Jasper, it was still nice to have another person in Arkadia on her side before she’d even arrived; when the three of them had picked up Clarke from the airport the day after her mothers accident, her heart had swelled. No matter that she no longer had any blood related relatives, at least she had her chosen family.

Clarke has to tune out of the story when Octavia starts screwing the details even further, knowing if she continues to listen she’ll want nothing more than to jump in and correct her. She’s just gone to throw another rock when a deep voice from behind her takes her by surprise, causing her rock to simply sink in the water. She turns to find Bellamy observing her, both hands shoved in his pockets.

“What?” She asks shortly. She’s still irritated with him from earlier.

“I asked how you do that.” He takes a step closer, feet squelching in the mud on the shore. Clarke watches him and then looks back out at the water, scooping to pick up another rock from the ground.

“S’easy,” she murmurs with a shrug, skipping the rock across the water twice. She feels Bellamy saddle up to her side but neither of them speak and Clarke kicks at the ground, digging the toe of her sneaker into the mud. 

“Hey.” He finally speaks after two minutes of silence, his voice low, harmonizing with the lapping of the lake. Clarke can feel his gaze on her profile. “I’m sorry.” 

Clarke doesn’t know what to say. Bellamy seems to be the one person out of the group that she can’t crack. Everyone else was straightforward enough, even with Echo and Raven at least she knew where they stood. But with Bellamy it seemed to vary day to day. Sometimes he was thrilled to see her, looking at her with a smile that was so infectious it affected the entire rest of her day, and other times his eyes got so dark and stormy that Clarke spent hours trying to figure out what she did wrong, beating herself up for never saying the right thing. She supposes its never easy to get to know someone again, especially after an extended period of time, but on the good days there’s always a glimmer of hope, and Clarke was finding it harder to grasp onto.

Maybe it’s her fault; maybe she ruined it all last night. Maybe she was getting too close, too comfortable. Or, and maybe this is the most discomforting thought of all, it’s possible Bellamy still just viewed Clarke as his younger sisters friend and she was misinterpreting everything. It’s possible he was only being nice because everyone else was, because she was back in town without many friends, because her mom died. That she’d imagined everything and every smile shared between the two was one of pity. And despite how genuine his voice sounds now, there was no knowing what was going through his mind. That was most terrifying of all.

“Look, you don’t have to--”

Her sentence is drowned out by a sudden loud boom. The sound takes her by surprise, and apparently him too, because they reach out at the same time, her grabbing his shoulder and he, her forearm. But when Clarke looks up and sees the breaking color fill the dark sky, she has to laugh out loud. God, she’d almost forgotten about fireworks.

“Jesus..” They both mumble aloud, at the exact same time, and one shared grin followed by a spout of laughter makes Clarke think that maybe she isn’t misinterpreting everything and Bellamy actually is a friend. Her friend. His apology lays forgotten in the mud.

Though his hand drops from her arm, her own stays on his shoulder as they watch the fireworks, only speaking every few seconds to comment on the color arrangements and various shapes. “Reminds me of when we were younger.” Clarke murmurs eventually, turning to look at Bellamy. His eyes stay upward, watching the changing explosions, and Clarke smiles as she watches him. “And Octavia would come over for the fourth. When you were adopted by that family…”

He looks down at her then. His lips are fitted into a tight lipped smile and Clarke can sense the hesitation behind it. That was such a bad time for them. “Sorry,” she whispers quietly.

Bellamy shakes his head. “Stop apologizing to me, Clarke. You apologize too much.” 

She lets out a long breath, one she honestly didn’t even realize she’s been holding in, and nods in return, tilting her head back up to look at the fireworks. They’re getting faster now, more sporadic, and Clarke can tell they’re approaching the end of the show. Her friends shout behind them, undoubtedly enjoying themselves by the fire. But one side glance at Bellamy and she thinks - no, knows - she’s enjoying herself more here.

Until she gets bumped from behind, causing her to trip on her feet and step ankle deep into the lake. “What the fu--” she starts, but the words die on her tongue when she turns and sees Echo snuggling into Bellamy’s side. 

For a moment, he looks just as confused as Clarke feels, but then he’s shrugging his arm around her shoulders and looking between her and the blonde. “You okay?” He asks the latter and Clarke nods silently, her foot squelching inside the now soaked sneaker. He gives a short nod in return, then turns his attention to his wife at his side. “You need to be careful, babe.”

Echo, God bless her, feigns innocence, her brown eyes getting wide as she looks between Clarke’s face and her feet. “Oops…” She mumbles and turns into Bellamy’s side, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

Bellamy sighs, the sound is hardly discernible against the sporadic fireworks, and Clarke catches his eye for just a second before he looks away, down at the woman clinging to him. “Echo…” She hears him mutter. It sounds like a warning. 

Clarke clears her throat. “Um… I’m gonna…” She starts, but when neither of them look up at her, she trails off, the final word never leaving her tongue. Clarke excuses herself but even as she turns her back and walks away, she can hear the bickering start, hushed and under their breaths. 

“What happened?” Octavia asks the minute Clarke plops herself onto a log next to her, already in the process of pulling her wet shoe off her foot. Lincoln looks concerned too, leaning across his fiance to raise an eyebrow in her direction. Clarke just scoffs and peels her soaked sock off.

“Echo happened.” Clarke says simply, refusing to go into further detail.

Octavia sighs quietly. Further detail isn’t needed, she gets it. “She’s a cunt, C.” She whispers quietly and though Lincoln gives her a disapproving look, he doesn’t comment. Octavia wraps her arm around Clarke’s shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug. She was starting to see her visceral reactions toward her brother's wife were not for naught.

“You wanna get drunk?” She hears from across the firepit and looks up to see Murphy holding out a bottle of tequila in her direction. 

Clarke snorts and reaches out, grabbing it from him with a reticent smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugs in response, casting a single glance over his shoulder before meeting the blondes eyes again, his own sparkling in the light of the fire. “Don’t mention it. Sometimes dealing with those two requires alcohol.” He whistles through his teeth as Clarke takes a few gulps and then pulls the bottle away from her lips with a grimace. “Nice.”

Clarke shows him her teeth, already feeling the alcohol work its way through her body; her toes tingle as she digs them in the sand. A few more gulps and Harper’s pulling her up to dance around the fire while Jasper wanes a song from the radio - far past out of key. The fireworks stop eventually and the fire dims down as the night goes on, obstructing their view past its light more and more. Eventually, the couple in the shadows become invisible, consumed by darkness and swallowed by the sounds of her friends laughter.

Clarke doesn’t know how long they stay there but by the time she flops into bed, she swears she can see the rising sun peeking from behind the trees. Despite the shit show of the day before, she feels warm, and whether it’s from the alcohol or the love of her friends, she falls asleep with a smile on her face for the first time in awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean clarke deserves friends so i thought it might be nice to give her some who actually observe what's going on and acknowledge her feelings. edgy, right?
> 
> i know this didn't have a whole lot of bellarke but i'll just say it's the calm before the storm.
> 
> hope you enjoyed! kudos and comments always always appreciated. <3


	7. chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, there's a small trigger warning for this chapter for a suicide attempt mentioned twice in passing. it's not much but i figured better safe than sorry, enjoy!

The thing about depression is it always seems to come around on the days it’s wanted least.

It’s like a bad neighbor that way; it sees your driveway piling up and the balloons tied to your mailbox and decides it needs sugar then and there, but everyone knows it’s just an excuse to get itself invited to the party so it can infect everyone with its presence. Clarke had a few neighbors like that in her life, but none as intrusive as Ms. Depression; they’d lived side by side for years and no amount of complaining got her evicted.

The first time she remembers feeling the pitch black bleakness of a depressive episode is six months after her father's death. Clarke hadn’t cried when he died; the accident was so sudden, so spurred on by one of her parents usual arguments, that at first it didn’t even feel real. When she came home and found her mom sitting on the couch, crying her eyes out, Clarke’s first thought was that maybe her hamster had died. Her hamster. She had no idea how wrong she was. His funeral had passed without so much as a tear and for the next five months, Clarke carried on life like any normal eleven year old. 

It came on a regular Tuesday morning, sunny and warm despite the icy snow that covered the ground and resided in her chest. She rolled over in bed, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and suddenly just couldn’t gather the strength to get up. Clarke thinks that’s the first time she ever really wanted to die. The thought had come on so quickly that it scared her; for twelve years, Clarke had thought little of death, but on that quiet January morning, she wanted nothing more than to welcome it into her life, if only to stop the insistent scratching in her skull. And yet she still hadn’t cried, just stayed in bed until Bellamy and Octavia had come over three days later, the latter forcing Clarke to take a warm shower, the former pulling her mother into a room to _talk separately_. Clarke had gone to a child psychologist the next day.

They didn’t know what it was at first. Of course she was sad over her fathers death but she was twelve, she wasn’t _depressed_. At first they thought ADHD, which… Really? And then it was anxiety and then it was just her _being a teenager_. It wasn’t until Clarke was sixteen and Octavia found her on her bedroom floor after she’d swallowed a whole bottle of her mother's prescription that they finally gave her her diagnosis, the one she held close to her heart even ten years later.

There’d been countless events in Clarke’s life that were plagued by her mental illness: her panic attack mid valedictorian speech that resulted in Monty having to finish her notecards for her, her quickening heartbeat that kept her from interviewing for her dream job, the neuroses that caused her to think her serious girlfriend Lexa was cheating on her which led to their breakup and, in turn, Clarke’s first adult heartbreak. Depression, and all the things that came with it, had been prominent in her life since that first day as a preteen and though there were pockets of time where Clarke felt she had a handle on things, it was always lurking, finger poised over the doorbell. And sometimes, like now, it rang.

For the rest of her life, she remembers Julys being hard for her (and Septembers and Mays and Februarys and really, every month, but especially Julys). The one good thing about her mother was she was_ there_, understanding of the pain that sat on Clarke’s shoulders, weighing her down to a sluggish pace. Except now she wasn’t, and once again Clarke was alone in the dark, grasping for someone else to understand. Ever since the day they’d gotten back from the lake, Clarke had felt the feeling building in her chest. At least now, with as much experience with it as she has, she knows the warning signs. The way her skin starts to crawl, the tingling in the left side of her jaw, the pulsing pain right below her ear - they’re all telltale signs and there’s nothing she can do to stop them.

Clarke sucks on the last of her postmated smoothie, pushing her greasy, unwashed hair out of her eyes as she scrolls through her Instagram feed. She double taps on Harper’s new photo - a selfie of her holding a green juice after her spin class; ah, the life of an _influencer_ \- and then tosses her phone aside, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She hasn’t showered in days; her hair is a forgotten pile on the top of her head, though tendrils have started to slip out and stick to her oily face, and her room smells like a mixture of b.o., weed, and probably cheese judging by the sheer amount of cheetos she’s eaten the past few days. 

As much as she didn’t like to admit it, the past week or so had been hard. Since getting back from the lake, she hadn’t heard much from her friends. Monty and Harper were away for the week, visiting Monty’s family up in Canada, and Jasper had met a girl at The Ark the night they’d gotten back and been wrapped up in that since. Octavia was wedding planning -_ I didn’t realize how close it was!!_ she had texted Clarke one night - and didn’t have much time to hang around. And she hadn’t so much as heard from Bellamy; he and Echo must’ve made up from whatever their issue was on the trip because she’d rode home with him the next day, leaving Clarke squished in the backseat with Raven and Harper. She’d received so many elbows to the face that there was no way to pretend it was an accident.

Clarke was officially starting to feel alone again and though she couldn’t expect everyone to want to be around her 24/7, she couldn’t help but feel that she had done something wrong and that they all had collectively agreed to stop being friends with her after the trip. Shit, they probably even had a separate groupchat without her now where they just made fun of all the annoying shit she said.

So when she stopped showing up for work three days ago, she hadn’t called in. Because frankly, despite the fact that Bellamy was her boss, he was also her friend - or, ex friend - and it was embarrassing to admit you couldn’t work because of something in your head. It wasn’t an excuse, any boss would say that, so she figures better to be fired on her own terms than be ridiculed for something that she can’t control. At times like this, work doesn’t seem important. In fact, it’s the last thing on Clarke’s mind. Nothing seems important. She can try and push through it, even does some days, but she doesn’t even make it to the front door before she’s losing her guts, opting for pulling a blanket from the closet and curling up on the couch for a nap instead. 

The texts and missed calls were piling up - the number at the bottom of Clarke’s screen has had a plus sign for some time now. But God bless Apple for creating do not disturb, because Clarke switches it into permanence, officially cutting off the communication her friends have been initiating in the past 24 hours. Deep down, she appreciates it, she really does, but she can’t handle their attention. It’s overwhelming. It makes her skin crawl. Despite one part of her mind telling her they hated her, another couldn’t help but shy away from their pity. They didn’t understand. And, to her, it’s better to be alone in the darkness than listen to someone fumble unsuccessfully for a light. 

Even painting wasn’t helping, though Lord knows she’d tried. The amount of canvases that were lying around the house, wet and unfinished, were enough to fill a small gallery, though based on the lack of work she’d gotten done over the past week, they wouldn’t be anytime soon. She found herself gravitating towards warm colors - browns, greens, tans - opposing how she herself felt. But there were just strikes of beige, sprinkles of gold, with no real rhythm or direction. Even for an abstract painter, they didn’t look _good_, she objectively knew that. So each one remained unfinished, trashed and forgotten.

It was Friday now and she was grateful for the impending weekend, if only for the fact that she meant she would stop getting calls for two days. Another two days to lay in bed and do nothing; it sounded like heaven. But lest her hunger be forgotten, her stomach takes that moment to remind her that she’d really had nothing but junk the past week; it growls loudly, cutting through the sound of The Office reruns in the background. Clarke sighs just as loudly and pushes her sheets back, forcing herself to sit up in her bed. A glance across the room shows her clock saying 4:15 pm. Dinner-ish time.

Clarke pushes her stringy hair behind her ears and sinks her toes into the carpet, making her way towards her bedroom door. When she cracks it open, she pauses for a second, listening for the sound of anyone who may be hovering around, be it maids or cooks. When she’s satisfied with the silence that falls over the house, she makes her way towards the kitchen, humming along to a song she presses play on on Spotify.

She’s digging through her fridge, singing along, when she hears a ring cut straight to her ears. Clarke lifts her head from the door, a piece of string cheese in her mouth, and looks around for the culprit. Her eyes land on an analog phone on the wall, vibrating in its holder. Jesus, she forgot her mom had a house phone. She makes her way over to it, grabbing the receiver right before the fourth ring. “Griffin residence.” She mumbles through a mouthful of processed dairy.

“Hello? Clarke?”

Her eyebrows furrow together. “Monty?”

“Jesus.” She can hear him sigh through the phone, the sound exasperated but also bordering on something else - relief, if she guesses correctly. “Fuck, Clarke. We thought you were dead or something. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

Clarke swallows hard, the cheese sliding down her throat unchewed, and blinks back the tears that sting at her eyes. “I guess it’s on do not disturb, sorry.”

Monty sighs again, though this one sounds incredulous. She can see him rubbing his face even through the phone. “Octavia says you haven’t been to work.” Clarke shrugs, then remembers he can’t see her and instead grumbles in response. She can feel his irritation spark. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” she answers through another bite of cheese, making sure to chew this one loudly. It was rude. She didn’t care.

“You’re going to get fired.” The soft tone from earlier is gone from Monty’s voice. Instead, he sounds tired, irritated. Clarke thinks she hears a soft exhale in the background. Harper.

Clarke flops onto the couch in the living room, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table in front of her. “That’s kind of the point, Monty.”

There’s a sharp laugh. It cuts right through Clarke and for just a minute, she feels guilty, but then it’s gone again. “Jesus… I know you’re going through a hard time right now but--”

“No, I’m not.”

“_But_ you need to go to work. Or at the very least call Bellamy and tell him why you aren’t there.” Clarke rolls her eyes to herself but doesn’t interrupt. “He’ll understand, Clarke.”

It’s her turn to laugh, low and under her breath. She tilts her eyes up to the ceiling, her head lolling back against the back of the couch. “Is Harper there?”

There’s a long moment of silence followed by a loud scraping - Monty putting his hand over the phone, assumably - and muffled talking in the background. Harper’s voice comes through a minute later, gentle and quiet. “Hi, honey. How are you?”

“I’m okay.” Clarke quips. “How’s Canada? Have you gotten any poutine?”

Harper pauses, long enough for Clarke to chew through her lip until it starts bleeding again; it’s done that a few times this week. “It’s nice, Clarke. Listen, Monty told me you haven’t been going to work…” Clarke groans. “Is everything okay?”

“Can’t I just have a few days off?”

Another pause. Clarke can feel her picking her words carefully. “Of course you can. But maybe you should just… Call in? I’m sure Bell wouldn’t mind…” She trails off quietly. Clarke feels another twinge of guilt; she hates when Harper gets like this. Hates that it’s her fault.

“I just…” Clarke sighs loudly, flipping onto her stomach to lay on the couch, feet in the air. “I can’t, Harp.”

There’s a long breath but then Clarke hears her hair move against the earpiece and knows she’s nodding. She appreciates her friends acceptance. “Okay, babe… But will you at least take your phone off do not disturb? We can text, I’ll send you some pictures from the trip…”

Clarke agrees, knowing she has no intention of doing so, and when she and Harper hang up a minute later, she throws both phones across the room. As much as she loves and appreciates her friends and their concern, they can’t help her. She wants nothing more than to just lay in her quiet house, stare at the ceiling and fall into her existential dread without being reminded of her real life responsibilities. So she flips onto her back and does exactly that, watching the rotating ceiling fan until her eyes start to droop. When she wakes up two hours later, it’s to the sound of knocking, though at first she can’t figure out whether or not she’s imagined it. She lays, blinking in the setting light that streams through the curtains, until it comes again, three raps of the knuckles on her front door.

Clarke sighs loudly and rubs her hand across her face, grimacing when it comes away shiny with oil. She really needed to shower. After wiping her hand on the couch, Clarke pulls herself into a standing position, taking a moment to stretch her arms over her head. Her back pops and she groans at the feeling before dropping her hands to her side and making her way towards the front door, swinging it open. “I don’t want an--” She’s struck by the face on the other side, the exact opposite of the twelve year old girl scouts she was expecting to see. “Bellamy?”

He smiles from his spot in front of her, close lipped and lacking behind the eyes, and Clarke knows he’s been sent to check on her. She scoffs, eyeing the six pack he holds at his side. “Am I on suicide watch?” She asks bluntly, not reacting to the flinch she sees travel through his body.

“No, Clarke…” He answers; she can hear the hesitation behind his voice. “Harper and Monty just called me, thought it might be nice to have someone come check in on you since you haven’t been around much this week…” He gives her the same tight lipped smile from earlier, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “That does kinda sound like suicide watch, huh?”

Clarke scoffs out a laugh, short and under her breath, and then steps back, waving the man into her house. He steps in and she shuts the door behind him, closing out the sunlight in turn. “As long as I can have three of those--” she swings her hands toward the beers he holds, “--I don’t really care.”

The smile that takes Bellamy’s lips now is a little more genuine, accompanied by a sparkle behind his eye. “You can have four if I can stay.” 

The corner of Clarke’s lip twitches up in an involuntary smile but as her eyes travel over his shoulder, it falls from her face, replaced with a grimace at her sweaty appearance. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… Company.” She runs a hand through her greasy hair and immediately wipes her palm on the oversized t shirt that hangs on her body.

“Um…” Bellamy turns away, the action pointed enough that Clarke knows it’s for her benefit. “You can go change, if you’d like.” In another state of mind, it might make her stomach flutter, the way his voice drops in gentle suggestion, but now it just pricks at her skin. Was she really that atrocious to look at?

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, leveling her chin towards Bellamy. “Fine with me if it’s fine with you.” With a scoff, she brushes past him, bare feet slapping against the wood floor as she makes her way towards the back of the house. She hears a sigh behind her and then the sound of shoes echoing her stride; he’s following. 

“Clarke, I didn’t mean it lik--”

The blonde throws open the back door, the sound of it reverberating off the brick wall behind it successfully cutting off his sentence. Another sigh, but Clarke ignores this one as well, fumbling against the wall until the backyard is flooded in warm yellow light coming from twinkling fairy lights that criss cross above the pool. Clarke makes her way over to the small table that sits at the edge, pulling out one of the metal chairs to plop herself into. With a glance over her shoulder, she motions for a hesitating Bellamy to come join her.

He’s silent even as he sits down but his eyes never leave her face. Even as he grabs a beer, pops the tab, and takes a long gulp, he’s still looking at her. Clarke knows that look. It’s the look every therapist had ever given her, the look her mom was giving her when she woke up after getting her stomach pumped, the look Lexa gave her every time she had a bad day. It was the look that said _I want to help, let me help, tell me how to help_ except Clarke didn’t _need_ help. She needed alcohol. And stat.

“Thanks for these.” She breaks the silence as she pops a tab on her own beer, tipping her head back to chug a good 75% of the can in one go. When she slams it back down on the metal table, he’s still watching her, though his gaze flies towards the pool when Clarke meets his eyes. For a minute, she watches the tick in his jaw, jumping beneath the thickening layer of stubble that adorned his skin there. She knows he wants to speak. She also knows she isn’t making it easy for him. With a long sigh, she throws back the rest of her first can and reaches for another. “Say what you wanna say, Bellamy.”

His eyes flicker towards her briefly, but settle back on the shimmering water. Clarke notes silently that he’s still wearing his coat - he wasn’t planning on staying long - and works at chugging half that beer as well, covering her mouth with her hand when a burp threatens to escape. When Clarke’s worked her way through her second beer and starts to feel the familiar tingling of alcohol start to work its way up her calfs and Bellamy _still_ hasn’t spoken, she reaches out and touches his elbow. Static electricity sparks between them and they both start, Clarke pulling her hand back quickly. “Sorry…” She whispers.

“I feel like every time you talk to me, you’re apologizing.” Clarke’s taken aback by his sudden words and furrows her brows when his brown eyes meet hers. The look on his face is both frustrated and… Well, she might say sad. He shakes his head once and then looks away; Clarke feels the air between them turn static. “I hate it. You haven’t had a single thing to apologize for. Not once.”

Clarke is struck speechless for once, though it only lasts a minute; not because she has something worthwhile to add, but because it’s so habitual it slips past her before she can even stop it. “Sorry.”

The look he gives her is disbelieving and for a second Clarke wants to crawl inside her skin, escape the judgment she knows is coming, but then he’s tipping his head back, the loud sound of laughter cutting through the quiet of the backyard. Clarke just stares at him, watches him laugh until he drops his head again, his free hand running through his dark tresses. The grin he gives her when his crinkling eyes finally meet hers is so radiant, Clarke feels it warm her body from head to toe.

She’s never seen him smile like that before. And now she’ll never see anything but. Shit.

“Shut up,” she grumbles under her breath, reaching out for a third can. She’s stopped by Bellamy’s hand, which wraps around her wrist before her fingers can touch the metal. Their hands stay suspended, his skin warm against hers. It’s quiet in the backyard, save for the hum of the hot tub and a dog howling somewhere in the neighborhood. 

“Hey,” he whispers and Clarke watches him swipe his thumb across the back of her hand. She swallows hard, shifts her eyes up to look at him through her lashes. He’s smiling fondly, backlit by the hanging golden lights and the setting sun. His freckled skin looks bronze, like he’s on fire, but she’s the one who feels hot. She needs him to let go. “Don’t apologize anymore, okay? Not to me.”

Clarke knows her face is turning pink, can feel the color spreading up her chest and her neck, and hopes he can’t tell. “Okay.” 

Bellamy, satisfied, nods his head and drops her hand onto the can. He looks away so casually and Clarke can tell it does nothing for him, yet every time he touches her skin, she comes away feeling branded, like he’s permanently burned into her flesh. In the back of her mind, an alarm goes off. Danger, danger. She ignores it.

Clarke clears her throat, grabbing the can beneath her fingers and pulling it to her mouth. She chugs this one in a single go, setting the can down and hiccuping once. Bellamy turns to look at her again, an eyebrow raised dubiously. “You good?” Clarke nods and reaches for the final can.

For what feels like ages, the two of them sit in a kind of comfortable silence, sipping beers side by side and watching the lights reflect on the water. Clarke likes that they can be like this. That the silences aren’t awkward and he seems to enjoy them just as much as she does. Her friendship with him is different than with other people; everyone else feels the need to fill the void, occupy it with gossip and banter. Clarke enjoys that as much as the next person, she does, but the quiet feels more personal, more loaded, serious in a way her other relationships aren’t always. But with Bellamy, things don’t change. Even when they’re goofing off (which, she admits, isn’t often) it still feels _real_. She wonders what that means but doesn’t allow herself to think about it too much. It would ruin the moment.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by his low voice and looks up to find him watching her with soft eyes, hooded from the alcohol he’s consumed. Clarke blinks once, then realizes she hadn’t heard the question. “Huh?”

Bellamy smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes. “Just asked if you wanted to share a smoke with me.”

“Oh,” Clarke nods. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulls a pack from the front of his jean jacket, grabbing one of the sticks straight from the cardboard with his lips. Clarke watches him the entire time; watches him flick the lighter, hold it up to the tip until it burns orange with heat. She watches the way his checks hollow as he inhales, accentuating his cheekbones (and really, when did she start to notice _that_), and his face regain shape as he blows smoke outwards. When he turns to look at her, catches her eye with a raised brow, Clarke flushes again and reaches out to grab the cigarette from him, trying not to jump at the static electricity that sparks again. 

“So… How are you?” He asks once she’s taken a long drag and handed it back to him.

Clarke shrugs her shoulders, turns her gaze back towards the pool. “I’m fine.” Bellamy makes a sound beside her, disbelieving and quiet. Clarke sighs in response, turning to face him in her chair. He’s watching her with smoke curling from the corners of his lips and a look on his face that says he’s not convinced. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nods and for a minute, she thinks she might have won that round. But then he’s pushing the cigarette into her fingers, gentle and warm, always warm, and speaking under his breath. “You know, when my mom died, I had a lot of complicated feelings about it too.” Clarke inhales, ready to jump in, but Bellamy holds his finger up. _One minute_, he says without words. _Just let me talk one minute._

“She wasn’t the greatest mom - you know that. A lot of the time, she wouldn’t even come home, off with boyfriends and doing drugs. I didn’t understand it at the time, why she didn’t want to be around us, and I beat myself up for it a lot. I was only sixteen when she disappeared that last time, Octavia was ten. I didn’t know what to do. Who to call. I was so mad. I remember the night we found out, I had asked God to just take her away, get rid of her, that way we didn’t have to deal with the constant uncertainty anymore. If she was gone, at least we’d _know_.” He pauses and Clarke looks up, watches his profile, the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows. She has so much she wants to say but bites back the words.

“When the cops knocked on the door - not even two hours later, Clarke - I thought… Well, it had to be my fault, right? I’d willed it.” He laughs, soft and sad under his breath, and Clarke reaches out to touch his forearm. He doesn’t react, but the way his muscles seem to loosen under the pads of her fingers keeps Clarke from pulling away. “I know now that it wasn’t but I spent so much time beating myself up when I should have been remembering the good times, the times she _was_ home and making breakfast or helping Octavia with her homework or recommending me books.”

“She wasn’t a great mom, not even close, but she tried her best with what she had. Addiction, it’s… Numbing. Makes you forget everything except your vice. Makes you forget your job, your life, your kids… I don’t know if I’ll ever really forgive her… But I try not to think of her in a negative light anymore.”

He falls silent, gaze cast ahead. Clarke starts to wonder if she’s supposed to talk now and opens her mouth to do so, but he’s speaking again, voice hushed and harmonizing with the lap of the pool against the concrete walls. “Your mom helped. I know you don’t know, she didn’t want me to tell you, but she made sure Octavia and I didn’t get separated in the system. She even recommended our first home - you remember Nia? She was nice, it worked for awhile, but Octavia was just so… _Angry_.” 

Clarke remembers well. All the fights her best friend had gotten into, how often she showed up at Clarke’s door with a bloody nose or a black eye. It had lasted years. She’d only really fallen out of it after Clarke had come home from the hospital and started attending some meetings for kids with dead parents. Octavia had come to a few too. Clarke had never really made the connection before but she supposes maybe those meetings had helped her friend as much as they helped her. She almost wishes for one now.

“It was hard to keep us together; my sister had a file as long as the nile river and mine never exceeded a page or two. But your mom did everything in her power to make sure we weren’t ever separated. She even helped me get off Murphy’s couch and into an apartment so I could fight for custody of her…” Bellamy finally turns to look at her then, his free hand falling atop of the one Clarke has perched on his arm. His eyes look sad but when Clarke offers him a smile, lopsided and tight lipped, he returns it. “I’m not trying to convince you to forgive her, Clarke. I know your relationship was… Tumultuous. I know she didn’t call. Or trust you to make decisions but… She’s still your mom.” Clarke watches him silently and it’s he who turns away this time; she swears she sees his skin tint red beneath the dull lights. “Sorry if I’m overstepping.”

Clarke shakes her head, greasy tendrils flopping around her face. “Don’t apologize, Bellamy. Not to me.” She echoes his words from earlier and though he doesn’t meet her eyes, she can tell by the firmness of the nod of his head that it’s earnest. “I appreciate it.” She pauses. “I appreciate _you._”

The look he gives her… She can’t quite understand it. He seems surprised, his eyebrows furrowing together until they get that little crease in the middle, his lips downturned into a frown. But there’s something else there, something in his eyes that Clarke can’t read. It’s frustrating. Even after spilling his heart out to her, sharing years worth of secrets she’d never even had an inkling about, he’s still shut up, an old book on the shelf that you can’t really crack without splitting it’s spine. (She finds she wants to try anyway; open it up a little more everyday until it’s laid flat and she can read the words that jump from the page.)

“Thank you,” he answers finally and she nods because, really, what can she say?

They lapse into another silence, though this one is more loaded than the last, and pass a cigarette between the two of them that Bellamy seems to pull from the air. Clarke thinks a lot about what he told her, how Abby helped them out and didn’t want her to know about it. How her mother was probably the only reason they both stayed in Arkadia and Octavia wasn’t sent to juvie. While it should make her feel… Better, at the very least, it just pisses her off. Her mom hadn’t put half that attention into her own relationship with her daughter but had the time to spend on someone else. Clarke supposes she’s happy it was at least the Blakes, if it had to be anyone, but still can’t help the disdain that takes over her memories.

Something touches her temple, gentle but insistent, and Clarke starts, her blue eyes flying up to find the culprit. When she sees it’s just Bellamy tapping two fingers against her head, she knits her brows. “You’re not all alone up there, you know. I’m happy to listen.” Whether she’s just obvious or he’s intuitive, it still makes her sigh out loud all the same.

“It’s just… A lot.” Clarke pulls both legs up onto the chair with her, wrapping her arms around them; she wants to be as small as she feels. “I’m happy she was there for you guys. I’m… You don’t know how happy that makes me. But… She didn’t even have time for me. She never saw how bad I was doing, never acknowledged the things I wanted or needed, never saw me as anything but an extension of herself. I hated her for so long… I hated her the night she died.” It’s the first time Clarke’s said it out loud and despite herself, she can feel the tears start to prick the corners of her eyes. “I still hate her. And that’s so-- _fuck_. It’s so shitty--”

“It’s not shitty.” The voice comes from much closer and Clarke looks up with watery eyes to see Bellamy crouched in front of her, the look on his face one of understanding, mutual sadness. He reaches out, tentative and gentle, and Clarke meets him halfway, wraps her fingers around his wrist as he does the same. They stay like that, staring at one another, and he repeats his words quietly and under his breath. “It’s _not_ shitty, Clarke.”

It takes a long second but eventually she nods, swallows past the lump in her throat, and uses her free hand to rub at her eyes until the tears are gone. He watches her the entire time, his thumb firm and pressed against the soft skin of her wrist; it tethers her to that moment, stops her from getting lost in the warmth of his eyes. Her tongue swipes across her lower lip and she swears she sees him track the movement but then he’s gone, his hand slipping from her grip so abruptly that hers swings back against her knee and a confused sound slips from the back of her throat. 

“I should probably…” His back is to her as he starts to gather the empty cans off the table, the silence suddenly cut with the sound of hollow metal hitting the table. Clarke sits in her place on the chair, watches him still in shock from the abrupt change of energy. It feels charged, sparking with every movement. He drops a can, swears, but before he can bend over to grab it, Clarke is out of her chair and holding it out. She pulls back when he reaches for it, holds it out of his grip until he’s forced to look at her for explanation.

“Thank you,” she says simply, placing the cold metal in his hand. “For coming over tonight.”

For a moment, he looks like he might say something, his mouth opening and closing twice, but then the cans gone from her hand and his back is to her again and Clarke is left feeling just as confused. It only takes him a second to gather the trash into a black plastic bag and he ties off the handles before turning to Clarke, holding it up at his side. “I’ll take this with me. Echo’s very adamant about recycling.”

Clarke’s stomach sinks. Moments like these, she almost forgets he’s married, that he’s not just the same Bellamy she grew up with because despite how different things are, it’s still vividly familiar. But then he evidently drops the bomb and Clarke is back to remembering and her good mood all but flies out the door. She nods once, pushing her chair into the table with a loud screech. They both grimace but neither say a word as they make their way back into the house. 

Clarke stumbles a little in the doorway, the alcohol having more of an effect on her now that she’s up and moving. Bellamy catches her with his free hand curled around her shoulder but it’s gone as soon as she rights herself and he shifts the bag into the hand that swings between them, putting enough space between their bodies that Clarke takes a step back to walk behind him. 

When they get to the front door, they both pause, unsure of how to leave things after such a quick shift in mood. Bellamy curls his hand around the doorknob then turns, both of them opening their mouths at the same time.

“Look, Clarke --”

“Bellamy--”

They both stop, exasperated and laughing under their breath, and Clarke waves in his direction. “Go ahead.”

“I was just gonna say… I’m glad you came back to Arkadia.” He rubs his free hand against the back of his neck, refuses to make eye contact. “The circumstances suck but… I’m still selfishly glad you’re here.”

His words mean more to her than Clarke is even willing to admit. Her cheeks flush, she knows it, but doesn’t try to hide it. It seems appropriate for once. “I’m glad I’m back, too.” She answers quietly, then shifts onto her tiptoes before she can lose the gall. Her lips collide with his cheek, a little more harshly than she would’ve liked, but she can blame that on the alcohol. She falls back a second later, a small smile on her lips as she watches him. His expression doesn’t change but there’s no mistaking the pink glow on his face. “Have a nice night, Bell.”

He nods once, turns his head to catch her eye; that same look from earlier is back. “You too, Clarke.”

She watches him drive away from a crack in her window, her fingers pulling back the curtain. He looks comfortable in his rover, cigarette hanging out the open window, and she thinks back to the two times she’s spent in his passenger seat. She wants to be there now, listening to his sad playlists and sharing a cigarette, instead of in this empty house that lacks the warmth to be called a home. Even with a hazy mind, she recognizes the problem with the thought. The tall problem with legs for days.

Clarke sighs and flops onto the couch once she sees his taillights disappear from view, her eyes once again on the rococo style ceiling. In a few minutes, she’ll get up and paint - her muse is back in full force, she can see the piece already - but for now she just wants to stare at the swirling pinks and blues.

When she closes her eyes, she can see the way he tipped his head back, can hear the way he laughed, loud and sure and deep. She recounts the story in her head, relishes in the sight of him knelt in front of her, reaching out, poking and prodding his way to places other people would never see the light of. She thinks of the sadness in his eyes, the despair in his voice when he speaks of his mother. The way his head is always dropped, the sparkle in his eyes, the tick in his jaw. The freckles that splatter across his cheeks. The curl that flops against his forehead.

When she opens them again, looks at the canvas across the room with smudges of brown and bronze and gold, she knows she’s screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone enjoyed a bit of soft brolarke.
> 
> this was a little hard to write because it hits so close to home, so i kept coming back to it, but i'm very satisfied with the end result. this is my favorite chapter so far.
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated. <3


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